Skip to main content

Full text of "The Strand Magazine: An Illustrated Monthly"

See other formats

.m\.~m**a&*** B *_ 

The strand magazine 

Digitized by GoOgl* 

Original from 





A P 


C^f\r%Ci\i^ Original from 



V % 

("""rw^nL'' Original from 



July to December, 1894. 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 




®ffn JlluctTated Jffontlilxf 



Vol. VIII. 


Xonbott : 


rv ■»■ «wh f^rw"*rslr> Original from 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 



ALPINE PASS ON " SKI," AN. By A. Conan Doyle 
(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


(Written and Illustrated by Beckles Willson.) 

APRIL SHOWER, AN. A Little Comedy in One Act. 
(Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

By Constance Beerbohm. 





BANK OF ENGLAND NOTES. By Gilbert Guerdon 211 

(Illustrations by Frank Feller, and facsimiles.) 


No. XIX.— Children : Miss Dora Barton, Miss Nellie Bates, Miss Agnes Birdvvood, 
Miss Gundred Iris de Haga Haig, Miss Jeannie Herries, Miss Flossie Perry, Miss 
Esmee Vallerie de Vere Verey 9° 


(Illustrated by Photographs and Drawings. ) 

BIRD-CAGE MAKER, THE. A Story for Children. From the Spanish 557 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 


(Illustrations by A. J. JOHNSON.) 

BRASSEY, LORD AND LADY. (See "Illustrated Interviews") 517 

BRIDES. By E. Salmon 683 

(Illustrations by John GULICH.) 


(Illustrations by Phil May, Dudley Hardy, Harry Furniss, F. C. Gould, E. T. Reed, 
and Leslie Ward, " Spy.") 


(Written and Illustrated by E. C. Clifford.) 

CRADLES, SOME HISTORIC. By Sheila E. Braine 204 

(With Illustrations,) 

CROISSY YEW, THE. From the French of Maurice Saint-Aguet 115 

(Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I.) 

CURRIE, SIR DONALD. (See " Illustrated Interviews") 176 

DENMARK, THE KING AND QUEEN OF. By Mary Spencer-Warren 237 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Gunn & Stuart, Steen & Co., and Georg 



(Illustrations from Photographs of the dogs of The Shah, The Duchess of York, The Crown 
Princess of Servia, The Duchess of Saxe-Coburg, Prince Alexander of Teck, 
Princess Louise, The Duchess of Newcastle, Madame Patti, Prince Dhuleep Singh, 
Baroness Burdett-Coutts, Mr. Irving, Mr. Pinero, Mr. Penley, Lord Ducie, Lord 
Braybrooke, Sir John Gladstone, Countess Cowper, Lord Colchester, Mr. Justice 
Hawkins, Miss Minnie Terry, Sir W. Broadbent, Mr. Willard, Lady Henry 
Somerset, The Marquis of Ormond, Miss Vaughan, Sir William McCormick, Mr^ 
Stuart Wortley.) 

by LiOOglC 





{Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

EAGLE'S CRAG, THE. By M. P. Shiel 308 

{Illustrations by A. Pearse. ) 

ENGINE-DRIVERS AND THEIR WORK. By Alfred T. Story 168,279 

(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 

" EXTREMELY AGREEABLE." From the German of E. Von Wald-Zedtwitz 548 

(Illustrations by G. G. Fraser. ) 


(Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd.) 

FATMA. From the German of Wilhelm Hauf 439 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs and Autographs. ) 


(Illustrations from Old Prints and Photographs.) 

GIRTON AND NEWNHAM COLLEGES. By E. A. Brayley-Hodgetts 507 

(Illustrations from Paintings by J. J. Shannon, and Photographs by Stearn, Cambridge.) 


(Illustrated with Facsimiles. ) 

(Illustrated with Facsimiles.) 


(Illustrated with Facsimiles.) 

HORRIBLE FRIGHT, A. By Mrs. L. T. Meade 426 

(Illustrations by J. FlNNEMORE, R.B.A.) 


XXXV.— Sir Donald Currie, K.C.M.G., M. P. By Harry How 176 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Jeune, Paris ; Messrs. Elliott & Fry ; The London 

Stereoscopic Co. ; Georg Hansen ; Carl Hanitz ; and from Paintings by W. L. Wyllie, 

XXXVI.— Scindia, Maharajah of Gwalior. By Raymond Blathwayt 341 

(Illustrations from Photographs by The Maharajah of Gwalior, Messrs. Johnstone & 

Hoffman, Mr. Lake, and Mr. Onrait.) 
XXXVII. — Lord and Lady Brassey. By M. Griffith 517 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 
XXXVIII. — Mr. Hiram Maxim. By J. Bltcknall Smith 577 

(Illustrations from Photographs, and a Drawing by Paul Hardy.) 

KHEDIVE OF EGYPT, THE. By Stuart Cumberland ... 92 

(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 

LAUREL WALK, THE. By Mrs. E. Newman 528 

(Illustrations by J. FlNNEMORE, R.B.A.) 



(Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I.) 

LOST IN THE AIR. From the French of Eugene Mouton 227 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

MARKSMANSHIP. By Gilbert Guerdon 11 

(Illustrations by Frank Feller.) 


V.— The Quinton Jewel Affair 60 

VI.— The Stanway Cameo Mystery 155 

VII.— The Affair of the Tortoise 269 

(Illustrations by S. Paget.) 





(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

MAXIM, MR. HIRAM. (See " Illustrated Interviews") ... 

(Illustrations by W. B. WoLLEN, R.I.) 

MIRACLE, A. From the French of Francois Copp^E 

(Illustrations by A. Pearse.) 

MOST TRULY ONE. By E. Salmon ... 

(Illustrations by A. J. JOHNSON. ) 


(Illustrations from Drawings.) 

NONA, THE. From the French of Andre Godard 

(Illustrations by FLORENCE K. Upton.) 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

By Charles W. Carey 


(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


( Written and Illustrated by James Scott. ) 


(Illustrations from Facsimiles.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs by A. J. Johnson.) 

PILOTS. By Alfred T. Story 

(Illustrations from Sketches and Photographs. ) 



•• 577 

•• 563 

■ 737 

.. 2SS 

■ . 4S5 

• • 477 
.. 1S9 

.. 632 

- 745 

• • 301 
.. 697 

- 36) 
417. 455 

Abel, Robert 

Albu, Miss Annie 

Bedford, Bishop of 

Booth, "General" William... 
Carr-Glynn, The Hon. and Rev., 
Carnot, The Late President 

Currie, Sir Donald 

Davey, Lord 

Denmark, Crown Prince of ... 
Denmark, Crown Princess of 
Fowler, The Rt. Hon. H. H., 

Harris, Lord 

Janotha, Miss 

Knoll ys, Sir Francis 







Maharajah Gaekwar of Baroda, The.. 
Nansen, Fridtjof, Ph.D.-... 

Nickalls, Guy 

Pitman, Sir Isaac... 
Ripon, The Bishop of 
Rutland, The Duke of ... 
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, The Duke of 
Somerset, Lady Henry ... 
Teck, Prince Adolphus of 
Teck, Princess Adolphus of 
Villiers, Mr. Frederick... 
Ward, Leslie ("Spy") ... 
Worth, M 


(Illustrations from Engravings lent by Her Majesty the Queen and a Drawing by Alan 


Man With the Malady, The. By J. F. Sullivan 

Women Volunteers. By C. R. Hollwood 

READING A PLAY. By Mary H. Tennyson 

(Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR.) 


(Illustrations by J. FlNNEMORE, R.B.A.) 

ROSEMONDF, THE. From the French of Julian Sermet 


(Illustrations from Photographs by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond, and from c. Painting.) 










• 325 

.. 673 

•• 451 




SCINDIA, MAHARAJAH OF GWALIOR. (.^"Illustrated Interviews") ... 


(Written and Illustrated by James Scott.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


(Illustrations by F. C. GOULD.) 


(Illustrations by W. Christian Symons.) 

SYDNEY HOLT, B. A. By Martin Milner 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

SYNAGOGUE IN BEVIS MARKS, THE. By Sir Francis Montefiore, Bart... 
(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 


(Illustrations from Drawings and Photographs.) 


(Illustrations from Prints and Photographs. ) 

(Illustrations by Dorothy Hardy.) 

TREASURE BEACH. By R. Robertson, F.S.A. Scot 

(Illustrations by W. Christian Symons.) 

TREASURE, THE. From the French of George Beau me 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

TRIUMPH OF LOVE, THE. By L. A. Atherley-Jones, M.P 

(Illustrations by J. Finnemore, R.B.A.) 





, 218 










(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 


(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

By F. Start in Pilleau 



WARDROPER'S LIE, DR. By Grant Allen 

(Illustrations by W. S. St ace y.) 

WHITE MOUSE, THE. From the French of HficfesiPPE Moreau 
(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

WOLF-SOL ANGE. From ihe French of Marcel Provost 
(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 

WONDERLAND IN AMERICA. By Mrs. Fenwick Miller... 
(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 



XXV.— Bovine 
XXVI.— Final 

ZOO. By Arthur Morrison. 

1 48 



(""rw^nL'' Original from 


{Seepage 10.) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Lord of Chateau Noir. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 

T was in the days when the 
German armies had broken 
their way across France, and 
when the shattered forces of 
the young Republic had been 
swept aside to the north of 
the Aisne and to the south of the Loire. 
Three broad streams of armed men had 
rolled slowly but irresistibly from the Rhine, 
now meandering to the north, now to the 
south, dividing, coalescing, but all uniting to 
form one great lake round Paris. And from 
this lake there welled out smaller streams, 
one to the north, one southward to Orleans, 
and a third westward to Normandy. Many a 
German trooper saw the sea for the first time 
when he rode his horse girth-deep into the 
waves at Dieppe. 

Black and bitter were the thoughts of 
Frenchmen when they saw this weal of dis- 
honour slashed across the fair face of their 
country. They had fought and they had 
been overborne. That swarming cavalry, 
those countless footmen, the masterful guns 
— they had tried and tried to make head 
against them. In battalions their invaders 
were not to be beaten. But man to man, or 
ten to ten, they were their equals. A brave 
Frenchman might still make a single German 
rue the day that he had left his own bank of 
the Rhine. Thus, unchronicled amid the 
battles and the sieges, there broke out 
another war, a war of individuals, with foul 
murder upon the one side and brutal reprisal 
on the other. 

Colonel von Gramm, of the 24th Posen 
Infantry, had suffered severely during this 
new development. He commanded in the 
little Norman town of Les Andelys, and his 
outposts stretched amid the hamlets and 
farm-houses of the district round. No 
French force was within fifty miles of him, 
and yet morning after morning he had to 
listen to a black report of sentries found dead 
at their posts, or of foraging parties which had 
never returned. Then the Colonel would 
go forth in his wrath, and farm-steadings 
would blaze and villages tremble, but next 

morning there was still that same dismal tale 
to be told. Do what he might, he could not 
shake off his invisible enemies. And yet, it 
should not have been so hard, for from 
certain signs in common, in the plan and in 
the deed, it was certain that all these outrages 
came from a single source. 

Colonel von Gramm had tried violence 
and it had failed. Gold might be more 
successful. He published it abroad over the 
country side that five hundred francs would 
be paid for information. There was no re- 
sponse. Then eight hundred. The peasants 
were incorruptible. Then, goaded on by a 
murdered corporal, he rose to a thousand, 
and so bought the soul of Francois 
Rejane, farm labourer, whose Norman 
avarice was a stronger passion than his 
French hatred. 

" You say that you know who did these 
crimes ? " asked the Prussian Colonel, eyeing 
with loathing the blue-bloused, rat-faced 
creature before him. 

" Yes, Colonel." 

" And it was ? " 

" Those thousand francs, Colonel- 

" Not a sou until your story has been 
tested. Come ! Who is it who has murdered 
my men ? " 

" It is Count Eustace of Chateau Noir/' 

" You lie," cried the Colonel, angrily. " A 
gentleman and a nobleman could not have 
done such crimes." 

The peasant shrugged his shoulders. 

" It is evident to me that you do not know 
the Count. It is this way, Colonel. What 
I tell you is the truth, and I am not afraid 
that you should test it. The Count ot 
Chateau Noir is a hard man : even at the 
best time he was a hard man. But of late 
he has been terrible. It was his son's death, 
you know. His son was under Douay, and 
he was taken, and then in escaping from 
Germany he met his death. It was the 
Count's only child, and indeed we all think 
that it has driven him mad. With his 
peasants he follows the German armies. I 
do not know how many he has killed, but it 



" you say veil - KKmv wnu utu i hush chisu*.*, 

is he who cuts the cross upon the foreheads, 
for it is the badge of his house," 

It was true. The murdered sentries 
had each had a sal tire cross slashed across 
their brows, as by a hunting-knife- The 
Cnlond bent his stiff back and ran his 
forefinger over the map which lay upon the 

" The Chateau Noir is not more than four 
leagues, 5 ' he said. 

" Three and a kilomkre, Colonel." 

" You know the place ? M 

" I used to work there.' 1 

Colonel von Grarnm rang the bell, 

" Give this man food and detain him/' said 
he to the sergeant 

"Why detain me, Colonel? I can tell 
you no more." 

" We shall need you as guide," 

w As guide 3 But the Count ? If I were 
to fall into his hands? Ah, Colonel- 

The Prussian commander waved him away. 

"Send Captain Baumgarten to me at 
once," said he. 

The officer who answered the summons 
was a man of middle age, heavy-jawed, blue- 
eyed, with a curving yellow moustache, and 
a brick red face which turned to an ivory 
white where his helmet had sheltered it. 
He was bald, with a shining, tightly 
stretched scalp, at the back of which, as 
in a mirror, it was a favourite mess-joke of 
the subalterns to trim their moustaches. 
As a soldier he was slow, but reliable and 
brave. The Colonel could trust him 
where a more dashing officer might be in 

u You will proceed to Chateau Noir 
to-night. Captain, 7 ' said he. iir A guide has 
been provided. You will arrest the Count and 
bring him back. If there is an attempt at 
rescue, shoot him at once," 

" How many men shall I take, Colonel ?*' 
Well, we are surrounded by spies, and 



our only chance is to pounce upon him 
before he knows that we are on the way* A 
large force will attract attention. On the 
other hand, you must not risk being cut off." 

" I might march north, Colonel, as if to 
join General Goeben. Then I could turn 
down this road which I see upon your map, 
and get to Chateau Noir before they could 
hear of us. In 
that case, with 
twenty men " 

"Very good, 
Captain. I hope to 
see you with your 
prisoner to-morrow 
morning. " 

It was a cold 
December night 
when Captain Baum- 
garten marched out 
of I^es Andelys with 
his twenty Poseners 
and took the main 
road to the north- 
west. Two miles 
out he turned sud- 
denly down a nar- 
row, deeply - rutted 
track, and made 
swiftly for his man. 
A thin, cold rain 
was falling, swishing 
among the tall 
poplar trees and 
rustling in the fields 
on either side. The 
Captain walked firs: 
w i t h Moser, a 
veteran sergeant, 
beside him. The 
sergeant's wrist was 
fastened to that of 
the French peasant, 
and it had been 
whispered in his ear 
that in case of an 
ambush the first bullet fired would be 
through his head, Behind them the twenty 
infantry men plodded along through the 
darkness with their faces sunk to the rain, 
and their boots squeaking in the soft, wet clay. 
They knew where they were going and why, 
and the thought upheld them, for they were 
bitter at the loss of their comrades. It was 
a cavalry job, they knew, but the cavalry 
were all on with the advance, and, besides, it 
was more fitting that the regiment should 
avenge its own dead men* 

It was nearly eight when they left I-es 
Andelys. At half-past eleven their guide 
stopped at a place where two high pillars 
crowned with some heraldic stone- work 
flanked a huge iron gate. The wall in which 
it had been the opening had crumbled away, 
but the great gate still towered above the 
brambles and weeds which had overgrown its 

base. The Prus- 
sians made their 
way round it, and 
advanced stealthily, 
under the shadow 
of a tunnel of oak 
branches, up the 
long avenue, which 
was still cumbered 
by the leaves of 
last autumn. At 
the top they halted 
and reconnoitred. 

The black chateau 
lay in front of them, 
The moon had 
shone out between 
two rain-clouds, and 
threw the old house 
into silver and 
shadow. It was 
shaped like an 1^ 
with a low arched 
door in front, and 
lines of small win- 
dows like the open 
ports of a man-of- 
war. Above was a 
dark roof breaking 
at the corners into 
little round over- 
hanging turrets, the 
whole lying silent 
in the moonshine, 
with a drift of 
ragged clouds 
blackening "the 
heavens behind 
it, A single light 
gleamed in one of the lower windows* 

The Captain whispered his orders to his 
men. Some were to creep to the front door, 
some to the back. Some were to watch 
the east, and some the west. He and the 
sergeant stole on tiptoe to the lighted window. 
It was a small room into which they looked l 
very meanly furnished. An elderly man in 
the dress of a menial was reading a tattered 
paper by the light of a guttering candle. He 
leaned back in his wooden chair with his 
feet upon a be?., uvhiiie a bottle of white 





wine stood with a half-filled tumbler upon a 
stool beside him. The sergeant thrust his 
needle-gun through the glass, and the man 
sprang to his feetj with a shriek. 

" Silence, for your life ! The house is 
surrounded and you cannot escape. Come 
round and open the door, or we will show 
you no mercy, when we come in,' 3 

" For God's sake, don't shoot ! I will open 
it ! I will open it ! " He rushed from the 
room with his paper still crumpled up in his 
hand* An instant later, with a groaning of 
old locks and a rasping of bars, the low door 
swung open, and the Prussians poured into 
the stone-flagged passage, 

" Where is Count Eustace de Chateau 

" My master ! He is out* sir." 

" Out at this time of night ? Your life for 
a lie ! " 

" It is true, sir, He is out ! " 

" Where ? " 

"1 do not know," 

"Doing what?" 

" I cannot tell. No, it is no use your 
cocking your pistol, sir. You may kill me, 
but you cannot make me tell you that which 
I do not know," 

" Is he often out at this hour?" 

" Frequently*" 

s uuurr 

by GOOgle 

" And when does he come home? " 

" Before daybreak. 1 ' 

Captain Baumgarten rasped out a German 
oath. He had had his journey for nothing, 
then. The man's answers were only too 
likely to be true. It was what he might have 
expected. But at least he would search the 
house and make sure. Leaving a picket at 
the front door and another at the back, the 
sergeant and he drove the trembling butler 
in front of them — his shaking candle sending 
strange, flickering shadows over the old 
tapestries and the low, oak-raftered ceilings, 
They searched the whole house, from the 
huge, stone-flagged kitchen below to the 
dining-hall on the second floor with its gallery 
for musicians, and its panelling black with 
age, but nowhere was there a living creature. 
Up above in an attic they found Marie, the 
elderly wife of the butler, but the owner kept 
no other servants, and of his own presence 
there was no trace. 

It was long, however, before Captain 
Baurngarten had satisfied himself upon the 
point. It was a difficult house to search. 
Thin stairs, which only one man could 
ascend at a time, connected lines of tortuous 
corridors. The walls were so thick that 
each room was cut off from its neigh bour. 
Huge |te ^ f ^J R|r ,e^, while the 


windows were six feet deep in the wall. Cap- 
tain Baumgarten stamped with his feet, and 
tore down curtains, and struck with the 
pommel of his sword. If there were secret 
hiding-places, he was not fortunate enough to 
find them. 

u I have an idea," said he, at last, speaking 
in German to the sergeant " You will place 
a guard over this fellow, and make sure that 
he communicates with no one." 

« Yes, Captain." 

" And you will place four men in ambush 
at the front and at the back. It is likely 
enough that about daybreak our bird may 
come back to the nest." 

" And the others, Captain ? " 

u Let them have their suppers in the 
kitchen. This fellow will serve you with 
meat and wine. It is a wild night, and we 
shall be better here than on the country 

" And yourself, Captain ? " 

"I will take my supper up here in the 
dining-hall. The logs are laid and we can 
light the fire. You will call me if there is 
any alarm. What can you give me for 
supper — you ? " 

" Alas, monsieur, there was a time when I 
might have answered ' What you wish ! ' but 
now it is all that we can do to find a bottle 
of new claret and a cold pullet." 

" That will do very well. Let a guard go 
about with him, sergeant, and let him feel 
the end of a bayonet if he plays us any 

Captain Baumgarten was an old cam- 
paigner. In the Eastern provinces, and 
before that in Bohemia, he had learned the 
art of quartering himself upon the enemy. 
While the butler brought his supper he 
occupied himself in making his preparations 
for a comfortable night. He lit the can- 
delabrum of ten candles upon the centre 
table. The fire was already burning up, 
crackling merrily, and sending spurts of 
blue, pungent smoke into the room. The 
Captain walked to the window and looked 
out. The moon had gone in again, and it 
was raining heavily. He could hear the 
deep sough of the wind and see the dark 
loom of the trees, all swaying in the one 
direction. It was a sight which gave a zest 
to his comfortable quarters, and to the cold 
fowl and the bottle of wine which the butler 
had brought up for him. He was tired and 
hungry after his long tramp, so he threw his 
sword, his helmet, and his revolver belt down 
upon a chair, and fell to eagerly upon his 
supper. Then, with his glass of wine before 

him and his cigar between his lips, he tilted 
his chair back and looked about him. 

He sat within a small circle of brilliant light 
which gleamed upon his silver shoulder-straps, 
and threw out his terra-cotta face, his heavy 
eyebrows, and his yellow moustache. But 
outside that circle things were vague and 
shadowy in the old dining-hall. Two sides 
were oak-panelled and two were hung with 
faded tapestry, across which huntsmen and 
dogs and stags were still dimly streaming. 
Above the fireplace were rows of heraldic 
shields with the blazonings of the family 
and of its alliances, the fatal saltire cross 
breaking out on each of them. 

Four paintings of old seigneurs of 
Chateau Noir faced the fireplace, all men 
with hawk noses and bold, high features, so 
like each other that only the dress could 
distinguish the Crusader from the Cavalier of 
the Fronde. Captain Baumgarten, heavy 
with his repast, lay back in his chair looking 
up at them through the clouds of his tobacco 
smoke, and pondering over the strange chance 
which had sent him, a man from the Baltic 
coast, to eat his supper in the ancestral hall 
of these proud Norman chieftains, But the 
fire was hot, and the Captain's eyes were 
heavy. His chin sank slowly upon his chest, 
and the ten candles gleamed upon the broad 
white scalp. 

Suddenly a slight noise brought him to his 
feet For an instant it seemed to his dazed 
senses that one of the pictures opposite had 
walked from its frame. There, beside the 
table, and almost within arm's length of him, 
was standing a huge man, silent, motionless, 
with no sign of life save his fierce, glinting 
eyes. He was black-haired, olive-skinned, 
with a pointed tuft of black beard, and a 
great, fierce nose, towards which all his 
features seemed to run. His cheeks were 
wrinkled like a last year's apple, but his 
sweep of shoulder, and bony, corded hands, 
told of a strength which was unsapped by 
age. His arms were folded across his arching 
chest, and his mouth was set in a fixed smile. 

" Pray do not trouble yourself to look for m 
your weapons," he said, as the Prussian cast 
a swift glance at the empty chair in which 
they had been laid. " You have been, if 
you will allow me to say so, a little indiscreet 
to make yourself so much at home in a 
house every wall of which is honeycombed 
with secret passages. You will be amused 
to hear that forty men were watching you at 
your supper. Ah ! what then ? " 

Captain Baumgarten had taken a step 

forwj uAifl*iftomfif^N The French - 



man held up the revolver which he grasped 
in his right hand, while with the left he 
hurled the German back into his chair, 

11 Pray keep your seat," said he. "You 
have no cause to trouble about your men. 


They have already been provided for It is 
astonishing with these stone floors how little 
one can hear what goes on beneath. You 
have been relieved of jour command, and 
have now only to think of yourself. May I 
ask what your name is ? rt 

" I am Captain Baumgarten, of the 24th 
Posen Regiment." 

" Your French is excellent, though you 
incline, like most of your countrymen, to 
turn the 'p' into a 'b.' I have been 
amused to hear them cry ' avez biti£ sur 
moi ! ■ You know, doubtless, who it is who 
addresses you." 

*' The Count of Chateau Noir." 

" Precisely. It would have been a mis- 
fortune if you had visited my chateau and I 
had been unable to have a word with you, 
I have had to do with many German 
soldiers, but never with an officer before. 
I have much to talk to you aboul 


Captain Baumgarten sat still in his chair. 
Brave as he was, there was something in this 
man's manner which made his skin creep 
with apprehension. His eyes glanced to 
right and to left, but his weapons were gone, 
and in a struggle he saw that 
he was but a child to this 
gigantic adversary. The Count 
had picked up the claret 
bottle, and held it to the light. 
"Tut! tut!" said he. 
" And was this the best that 
Pierre could do for you? I 
am ashamed to look you in 
the face, Captain Baumgarten, 
We must improve upon this." 

He blew a call upon a 
whistle, which hung from his 
shooting jacket. The old man- 
servant was in the room in an 

" Cham bertin from bin 15 M1 
he cried, and a minute later a 
grey bottle streaked with cob- 
webs was carried in as a nurse 
bears an infant. The Count 
filled two glasses to the brim. 

"Drink!" said he. "It is 
the very best in my cellars, and 
not to be matched between 
Rouen and Paris. Drink, sir, 
and be happy ! There are 
cold joints below. There are 
two lobsters fresh from Hon- 
fleur. Will you not venture 
upon a second and more 
savoury supper ? " 

The German officer shook 
his head. He drained the glass, however, 
and his host filled it once more, pressing him 
to give an order for this or that dainty, 

"There is nothing in my house which is 
not at your disposal. You have but to say 
the word. Well, then, you will allow me to 
tell you a story while you drink your wine, 
I have so longed to tell it to some German 
officer, It is about my son, my only child, 
Eustace, who was taken and died in escaping* 
It is a curious little story, and I think that I 
can promise you that you will never forget it. 
" You rnunt know, then, that my boy was 
in the artillery, a fine young fellow, Captain 
Baumgarten, and the pride of his mother. 
She died within a week of the news of his 
death reaching us + It was brought by a 
brother officer who was at his side through- 
out, and who escaped while my lad died, 1 
want to tell you all that he told me. 

"Eustace was IjgJtfnDltf Weissenburg on 



the 4th of August The prisoners were 
broken up into parties, and sent back into 
Germany by different routes. Eustace was 
taken upon the jth to a village called Lauter- 
burg, where he met with kindness from the 
German officer in command. This good 
Colonel had the hungry lad to supper, offered 
him the best he had, opened a bottle of good 
wine, as I have tried to do for you, and gave 
him a cigar from his own case. Might I 
entreat you to take one from mine ? " 

The German again shook his head. His 
horror of his companion had increased as 
he sat watching the lips that smiled, and the 
eyes that glared, 

" The Colonel, as I say, was good to my 
boy. But, unluckily, the prisoners were 
moved next day 
across the Rhine to 
Ettlingen, They 
were not equally 
fortunate there. 
The officer who 
guarded them was 
a ruffian and a 
villain, Captain 
Uaumgarten. He 
took a pleasure in 
humiliating and ill- 
treating the brave 
men who had fallen 
into his power. 
That night, upon 
my son answering 
fiercely back to 
some taunt of his, 
he struck htm in 
the eye, like this!" 

The crash of the 
blow rang through 
the hall. The 
German's face fell 
forward, his hand 

Into your hands, Captain Baumgarten, T 
return these ten gold pieces, since I cannot 
learn the name of the lender I am grateful 
from my heart for this kindness shown to 
rny boy. 

" The vile tyrant who commanded the 
escort accompanied the prisoners to Durlach, 
and from there to Carlsruhe. He heaped 
every outrage upon my lad, because the 
spirit of the Chateau Noirs would not stoop 
to turn away his wrath by a feigned sub- 
mission. Aye, this cowardly villain, whose 
heart's blood shall still clot upon this hand, 
dared to strike my son with his open hand, 
to kick him, to tear hairs from his moustache 
— to use him thus — and thus —and thus ! " 

The German writhed and struggled. 


and blood 

oozing through his 
fingers. The Count 
settled down in his 
chair once more. 

" My boy was disfigured by the blow, and 
this villain made his appearance the object 
of his jeers. By the way, you look a little 
comical yourself at the present moment, 
Captain, and your Colonel would certainly say 
that you had been getting into mischief. To 
continue, however, my boy's youth and his 
destitution — for his pockets were empty — 
moved the pity of a kind-hearted major, 
and he advanced him ten Napoleons from 
his own pocket without security of any kind. 

Vol, viii —3* 


He was helpless in the hands of this huge 
giant whose blows were raining upon him. 
When at last, blinded and half-senseless, he 
staggered to his feet, it was only to bo hurled 
back again into the great oaken chair. He 
sobbed in his impotent anger and shame. 

" My boy was frequently moved to tears by 
the humiliation of his position," continued 
the Count. w You will understand me when 
I say that it iaj.-biller:.. thing to be helpless 

b WftJaufer remor5dess 



enemy. On arriving at Carlsruhe, however, 
his face, which had been wounded by the 
brutality of his guard, was bound up by a 
young Bavarian subaltern who was touched 
by his appearance. I regret to see that your 
eye is bleeding so. Will you permit me to 
bind it with my silk handkerchief?" 

He leaned forward, but the German 
dashed his hand aside. 

" I am in your power, you monster ! " he 
cried ; " I can endure your brutalities, but not 
your hypocrisy." 

The Count shrugged his shoulders. " I 
am taking things in their order, just as they 
occurred," said he. " I was under vow to 
tell it to the first German officer with whom 
I could talk titt-a-tite. Let me see, I had 
got as far as the young Bavarian at Carlsruhe. 
I regret extremely that you will not permit 
me to use such slight skill in surgery 
as I possess. At Carlsruhe, my lad was 
shut up in the old caserne, where he 
remained for a fortnight. The worst pang of 
his captivity was that some unmannerly curs 
in the garrison would taunt him with his 
position as he sat by his window in the 
evening. That reminds me, Captain, that 
you are not quite situated upon a bed of 
roses yourself, are you, now ? You came to 
trap a wolf, my man, and now the beast has 
you down with his fangs in your throat A 
family man, too, I should judge, by that 
well-filled tunic. Well, a widow the more 
will make little matter, and they do not 
usually remain widows long. Get back into 
the chair, you dog ! 

" Well, to continue my story — at the end 
of a fortnight my son and his friend escaped. 
I need not trouble you with the dangers 
which they ran, or with the privations which 
they endured. Suffice it that to disguise 
themselves they had to take the clothes of 
two peasants, whom they waylaid in a wood. 
Hiding by day and travelling by night, they 
had got as far into France as Remilly, and 
were within a mile — a single mile, Captain — 

of crossing the German lines when a patrol 
of Uhlans came right upon them. Ah, it 
was hard, was it not, when they had come so 
far and were so near to safety ? " 

The Count blew a double call upon his 
whistle, and three hard-faced peasants entered 
the room. 

" These must represent my Uhlans," said 
he. " Well, then, the Captain in command, 
finding that these men were French soldiers 
in civilian dress within the German lines, 
proceeded to hang them without trial or 
ceremony. I think, Jean, that the centre 
beam is the strongest." 

The unfortunate soldier was dragged from 
his chair to where a noosed rope had been 
flung over one of the huge oaken rafters 
which spanned the room. The cord was 
slipped over his head, and he felt its harsh 
grip round his throat. The three peasants 
seized the other end, and looked to the 
Count for his orders. The officer, pale, but 
firm, folded his arms and stared defiantly at 
the man who tortured him. 

11 You are now face to face with death, and I 
perceive from your lips that you are praying. 
My son was also face to face with death, and 
he prayed, also. It happened that a general 
officer came up, and he heard the lad praying 
for his mother, and it moved him so — he 
being himself a father — that he ordered his 
Uhlans away and he remained with his aide- 
de-camp only, beside the condemned men. 
And when he heard all the lad had to tell, 
that he was the only child of an old family, 
and that his mother was in failing health, he 
threw off the rope as I throw off this, and 
he kissed him on either cheek, as I kiss you, 
and he bade him go, as I bid you go, and 
may every kind wish of that noble General, 
though it could not stave off the fever which 
slew my son, descend now upon your head." 

And so it was that Captain Baumgarten, 
disfigured, blinded, and bleeding, staggered 
out into the wind and the rain of that wild 
December dawn. 

by Google 

Original from 

Marks m ansh ip, 

By Gilbert Guerdon. 

F all our outdoor pastimes, 
shooting has always been a 
first favourite* Old and young 
alike are happy as long as they 
have something to aim at — 
something to hit Let it be 
pigeons at Hurling ham, bulls-eyes at Bisley, 
cockshies for cocoa-nuts on the common, or 
puff-and-dart in the playroom— each in its 
way has its peculiar charm. 

The art of aiming and hitting, sometimes 
called marksmanship, is natural to mankind, 
and is "as old as the hills." That was **a 
decided hit " of the stripling David when he 
" chose five smooth stones out of the brook/' 
and with one of them, deftly flung from a 
sling, laid low the giant Philistine, Goliath 
of Oath. Stone-throwing has been practised 
by striplings ever since. Though a very 
primitive weapon of attack, the sling was 
used by soldiers for many centuries. 

Virgil, as versified by Dry den, tells us that 
4< The Tuscan king laid by the 
lance and took him to the sling." 
Amongst the most famous 
slingers were the inhabitants of 
the Balearic Isles, and it is 
corded of them that they were 
able to sling stones with such force, 
that no armour was proof against 
the blows, while their aim was 
unerring. They usually 
carried three slings, one 
tied round the head, 
another fastened to the 
girdle, and the third 
twisted round the right 
wrist. These world-re- 
nowned warriors were 
ambidextrous, and were 
quite as skilful with the 
left hand as they were 
with the right, This 
dexterity, or rather ambi- 
dexterity, was acquired 
by every-day practice, 
even from early child- / 
hood; for, while quite 

youngsters, they had to sling down their daily 
bread from the tops of high poles, where 
their parents put it, and the children only 
got what they brought down by 
their accurate slinging. 

Archery succeeded slinging, 
and every young Englishman in 
the days of Edward II L was the 
owner of a bow of his 
own height. Usually it 
was made of yew. The 
string was of gut, horse- 
hair, hemp or silk, and, 
occasionally, of wo- 
mens hair plaited or 
spun. The arrow was 
exactly half the length 
of the bow. It was 
dressed with three 

fginal from 




feathers, two of which were plucked from a 
gander and the other from a goose. Practice at 
the butts was constant, and it was considered 
disgraceful to shoot at less than 220yds, When 
perfection at that distance had been attained, 
practice at the popinjay was permitted. A 

favourite but certainly cruel 
pastime was to catch a 
goose, put it in a hole, and 
cover it with turf. Then, 
as the poor bird broke out 
of its prison, it was shot at 
till killed. 
The longest bow and arrow shoot on record 

was made by a I Lancashire toxopholite, and 

he in three flights covered a mile T being about 

587 yards for each arrow. 

I-d ward III. was an ardent archer, and 

enjoyed attending the shooting matches. 





Original from 




It was at a meeting of this kind near Notting- 
ham that three famous archers shot before 
the King, The marks were two hazel rods 
set up at twenty- 
score paces. At 
the first flight — 

Cloudesley with 

a bearing arrow 
Clave the wand 

in two. 

The cham- 
pion archer then 
called his little 
boy and tied him 
to a stake, and 
placing an apple 
on his head, 
turned his face 
away and bade 
h i ra stand 
steady. The 
confident father 
then stepped out six-score paces from the 
stake, and bidding the amazed spectators be 
silent he drew his bow, and as the old ballad 
says ; — 

Then Cloudesley cleft the apple in two, 

As many a man might see. 
"The gtjils forbid il, said the King, 

" Tliat you should shoot at mc. T1 

This pleasant little tale reads very like the 
familiar Swiss legend of William Tell, but 
both the English and the Swiss versions were 
current about the same time, and probably 
both originated in the stilt older Scandinavian 
fable of the matchless marksman. 

Archery, though now only practised as a 
pastime in civilized countries, is still in active 
use amongst the savage tribes of Africa and 


NEGRO stick 


India, A favourite amusement with them is 
to shoot at a target while galloping past it, 
and the more skilful of them will put three 
out of four shots in the bull's-eye* 

Albert Smith amusingly described the 
boomerang as " the Australian crooked lath 
with the out-of-the-way name, that has the 
singular property when you throw it from you 
of returning and knocking the thrower's eyes 
out." This, of course, only referred to the 
boomerang when used as a toy at an evening 
party ; but serious- injury can be done with it 
when used as a weapon of offence. It can be 
thrown with surprising accuracy, and is used 
for killing both ground game and 
birds- About half a century ago it 
afforded amusement to the students 
at Oxford and Cambridge, 

In some respects akin to the use 
of the boomerang is the stick-throw- 
ing of an African negro. In the early 
days of the Wimbledon Rifle Meet- 
ings, Sambo used to astonish the 
marksmen by propelling perpendicu- 
larly into the air sticks about as long 
as an ordinary arrow, and making 
them drop within a marked-out space. 
When there was no danger of hitting 
anyone, he would aim at a target as 
if with a bow and arrow, and Sambo 
very seldom missed his mark* lat- 
terly he may have been seen in the 
City throwing his sticks over the 
telegraph wires, whenever there was 
a chance of doing so out of sight 
of a policeman. 

UNwrnafrflftiiftllttrf" his " WiW 




West " Show, made us familiar with horse- 
back shooting, but he used a gun and fired 
at glass balls or oranges which were thrown 
up by a young lady, also on horseback. 
Colonel Cody has had many imitators ap- 
parently quite as skilful, but there is a good 
deal of trickery in some of these perform- 
ances, Of course, if bullets are used, the 
feat of breaking ten out of a do^en balls 
would be really wonderful j but if cartridges 
made up to look like bullets, but which are 
really filled with small shot, are used, there is 
nothing very marvellous in the performance. 
When Dr. Carver, the once renowned 

American sharpshooter, was in England 
some years ago, he attracted a good deal of 
attention. by the astonishing way in which he 
broke a hundred little glass globes in as 
many shots, but when the Doctor tried his 
hand against the crack shots at a Wimbledon 
Prize Meeting, he was simply nowhere. 

If a proof were wanted of the popularity of 
indoor marksmanship, it would be easily 
found by looking over the programmes of the 
various music-halls from all parts of the 
kingdom, We should be sure to find " Pro- 
fessor" Snapshot, or some of his numerous 
rivals, announced with a grand flourish. 


rginarrranr ■$ 



One of our artist's sketches portrays a 
typical " Professor " with his handy-man, the 
latter perched on a high stool smoking a 
cigar, and evidently greatly gratified that the 
ash has once again been shot off without 
greater injury than a little dust in his eyes. 
It is a delightful luxury li for the likes of him 
to have to smoke a good cigar/' and one 
which burns to a substantial ash- When you 
see such a performance you will not fail to ob- 
serve how carefully the man smokes, watching 
the ash with anxious eye after every puff, know- 
ing, as he does, that the longer the incinerated 
end becomes the more there will be to aim at, 
and less likelihood of damage to his nose. 

The man is a study. Offer him a cigar on 
condition that he smokes it to be shot at, 
and he will say, to a certainty ; "No, thankee; 
I prefer the Professor's," Don't ask him to 
drink with you till after the performance, but 
then, if he is in a yarning humour, you may 
spend a merry ha If- hour with him. Get him 
to tell you of his many hair-breadth escapes. 
He will, with a little encouragement, also 
immensely amuse you by relating his ex- 
periences in trying to get an understudy. 

It will be readily understood that a deputy 
for such a post is not to be picked up " any 
when and anywhere." 

When a likely party has been persuaded 
to get on the perch, smoking the fragrant 
weed, the ** Professor " has to demonstrate 
to the embryo understudy that he really runs 
no risk — not the slightest- Most of the 
tyros, it appears, are so timid that Professor 
Snapshot has had to get a dummy figure put 
on the perch in the practice room, with an 

imitation cigar in its mouth with a detachable 
ash i^in. long. At this mark the Professor 
fires, lying on his back on a table, and with 
such invariable success that the understudy 
gains confidence, and at last summons up re- 
solution to change places with the dummy. 

One of the most amusing understudies was 
a nigger called " Dark>\ ,J He revelled in the 
cigars, but was apt to get sleepy. One night 
when he had to do deputy he shut his eyes 
as usual, and actually went to sleep on the 
stool The explosion of the gun and the 
knocking away his cigar woke him with a 
start, and he fell forward on to the stage as 
if diving, and remained standing on his head 
with his legs resting against the stool. This 
startling and novel feature of the perform- 
ance produced rounds of applause. It was 
lt a decided hit/ 1 and vociferously encored, 
Nothing would, however, induce M Darky " to 
repeat the trick — not even a promise of a 
whole box of choice cigars. He declared 
that he had been killed once, and that was 
quite enough for him, 

The Professor's practice room is usually 
underground, in some cellars or vaults, which 
apparently have belonged to a wine merchant, 
but are at present "to let," There is still a 
strong smell of wine about the place, and 
stalactites of cobwebs cover the arched roof 
and the dark walls. Ensconced in a safe 
corner, out of the way of stray shots, how- 
ever erratic, but sufficiently near to see and 
hear, let us await the arrival of Professor 
Snapshot and his troupe. 

He comes w T ith Miss I x>ttie Duckfoot and her 
deputy, and the handy-man* Some assistants 

Original from 

MIS* LOTTlEitT^CfcT!HJT SH0OTIRG ytJft^fe|^d|t. Ml C H IGA N 



arrange the shooting paraphernalia as it will 
be on the music-hall stage. Lottie, dressed 




£ la vivanditre, begins by practising at the 
bobbing balls; numerous stray shots rattling 
on the empty bot- 
tles in the surround- 
ing bins telling truly 
enough that small 
shot and not bullets 
have been used, 

A discussion en- 
sues as to whether 
the public prefer 
"tights" to petti- 
coats for the female 
perfo r m ers . Lottie 
declares that "she 
abominates tights. 
They don't become 
her, and she won't 
show in them/ 5 
The handy -man 
whispers to us that 
she did once ap- 
pear in tights, when 
someone called out, 
"Bravo, shaky- 
shanks ! *' and she 
can't forget it. 

But the chubby 

understudy is now practising in all the attrac- 
tive charms of flesh-coloured tights. Lottie 

sna rl i ngly sugges t s 
that there is "al- 
ways something 
loose about tights ' t 
whereupon the Pro- 
fessor has to inter- 
vene, and threatens 
to cancel Lottie's 
o engagement, telling 
her that she is a 
regular dog in the 
manger, as she 
won't wear tights 
herself and won't 
let her deputy. 

"Heels over 
head " is then prac- 
tised, followed by 
some novelties, 
which may or may not be put on 
the stage, including the startling 
exploit of shooting with both 
eyes shut. This was so sugges- 
tive of the rest of the shooting 
being done by trickery, that 
the Professor's manager said it 
would open the eyes of the 
public too much and spoil the 
whole business. We have not 
seen it tried yet. 

What in the music hall bills is described 


! ■, j 

as the l * astounding feat of 

William Tell," might quite as 

fairly relate to the astounding 

Orf^hrfffeWflb°i who takes the 




on his head in this scene of William Tell 
redivivus, H,-M. — that is, the handy -man— 
says that it is absolutely necessary to have 
someone who is firm on his feet for this job, 
and he declares that Sambo's foot is real good 
measure ; thirteen inches, at least 

The advantage of a good footing is further 
exemplified in a performance at 
another music-hallj where the Professor 
has the rifle over his shoulder and 
takes aim from a bit of looking-glass, 
whit:h he holds at the butt-end of 
the gun. He can just see the fore- 
sight of his gun and the orange 
on the negro's head, and when the 
two are in alignment he fires, and 
generally succeeds in hitting the 

Before we finish with the music- 
halls, let us take a peep at " Pro- 
fessor' 3 Chin-Chow-How, the far- famed 
Chinese juggler. He aims with mur 
derous-looking knives at a boy who 
stands against a wooden target, into 
which the knives are cleverly stuck 
all round, but without touching the 
half-scared boy* 

One of the latest additions to the 
already profuse programme is the 
Ambidextrous Pistoler t who, shouting 
first with one hand and then with the 
other, will put a dozen bullets suc- 
cessively into a visiting card at a dis- 
tance of about ten yards. 

We may now take a little outdoor 
exercise, and soon find ourselves in 
a crowd at a street corner looking at 
a game which appears to be mi ma 

ture quoits. Lit by a flaming naphtha lamp, 
there is a stall, which looks like an over- 
grown umbrella-stand, full of walking-sticks 
of all kinds. At these a man is throwing 
wooden rings about as large as those used 
for cornice-poles. These are supplied by the 
proprietor of the stall at six a penny. The 

VwL viii —3. 


THE tJ&MiM&k''M0UM. 





skill of the thrower 
is shown by his 
pitching the rin^s 
on to the handles 
of the sticks. 
If you ring a 
stick, it is 
yours. When 
you have got 
the knack of 
aiming accu- 
rately, you can get one ring on out of three, 
and then the proprietor usually suggests that 
you should "Give some other bloke 
a turn." 

Cockshies at cocoa-nuts is a heal 
thier amusement, 
because it must 
take place in an 
open space, and if 
on the sands at 
the sea-side, it is 
healthful and in- 
vigorating, The 
odds are in favour 
of the nuts, but 
recently a gentle- 
man, who was 
showing his boy 
how to aim at 
them, took a nut 
with every ball, till 
the owner, looking 
very glum, said, 
" You don't want 
to bust up a poor 
man, do you ? " 
The winner only 
took one nut, 
though he had 
won eighteen, and 
he was at once 
proclaimed 4l a 
real gem man; one 
of the right sort." 

Of pea -shooters 
and catapults the 

less said the bet- 
ter, unless it be 
by way of de- 
preciation. By 
their admirers 
they may be 
looked upon as 
merely harmless 
toys, but on the 
other hand , they 
may be used in 
many dangerous 
ways, and are 
therefore very 
properly pro- 
scribed by the 
police regula- 

An amusing 
post - prandial 
story, showing the utility 
of the pea-shooter, comes 
to us from America, A 
very prosy parson had a cute young friend, 
to whom he had been deploring his inability 


Original from 



to keep his congrega- 
tion awake during 
his Sunday sermons, 
'*If I could only 
keep my flock awake, 
my addresses would 
do them a world of 

"Well," replied 
Mr. Cute, " I'll bet 
you five dollars 111 
keep them awake 
next Sunday," 

si How? b1 inquired 
the parson. 

w Never mind 
how. You let me 
have a seat in the 
gallery behind you, 
and leave the rest to 

Sunday came, and 
Mr. Cute with his 
pea-s hooter was in 
the gallery. The 
parson was proceed- 
ing with his sermon 
in his usual sleepy 
style, and soon one 
of the congregation 
began to settle down 
in the pew corner for a snooze. But at the 
first nod he started up, rubbed his nose, and 
stared round. Each won Id -he dozer seemed 
to be similarly affected, till at last the parson 
tamed and upbraided Mr. Cute on his want 
of decorum. 

11 Never mind," said he, in a loud whisper; 
"you go on with your sermon : I'll keep the 
flock awake, 1 

The congregation were wakeful enough 



now, and the parson 
finished hisdisoourse 
by telling his flock 
that :— 

Some go to church for 

a walk : 
Some go ihere to laugh 

and talk \ 
Some go there their 

time to spend, 
Whilst others go to 

meet a friend. 
Some go there to wink 

and nod, 
But few go there to 

worship God. 

Amongst the odd- 
est of odd shots was 
undoubtedly the 
man who amused 
Henry VIIL by 
making some mar- 
vellous scores with a 
bow and arrow while 
standing on one leg, 
the other being 
stretched across his 
breast. He was 
henceforth known as 
But this odd pos- 
ture has been quite 
eclipsed in modern 
times by the renowned marksman, Farquhar 
son, who some years ago, at a Wi m bledon M eet- 
ing, startled the shooting world by firing his 
rifle while lying on his back. He made such 
marvellous scores, and won so many prizes, 
.that the novel position was not only practised 
by most marksmen, but now the posture is 
actually taught as part of the musketry in- 
struction in the regular army. In all-comers' 
contests where **any position" is permitted, 

competitors often 
assume it with 
marked success, 

The prone posi- 
tion, being the 
steadiest, is gene- 
rally chosen for 
sighting rifles, and 
the pool ranges at 
Bisley are always 
fully occupied 
for this purpose. 
It often requires 
several shots to 
find the bull ; but 
as the entries ore 
only limited by 
the length of the 





marksman's purse, he keeps on paying his 
shilling till he gets the correct elevation and 
finds the allowance to be made for that Mte 
noir of the rifleman— a " fish-tail M wind 

The value of the bullVeyes ma da at pool 
varies with the weather, being perhaps 5s. in 
fine weather and as many pounds in bad. 
The whole of the entries, less 25 per cent/ 
deducted by the National Rifle Association, 

is divided amongst the makers of bull's-eyes, 
and paid in cash the next morning. 

Half a century ago the Swiss had the reputa- 
tion of being the most famous shots in the 
world, and it was not surprising that they 
should have been tempted by the splendid 
shooting prizes offered at the first Wimbledon 
Meeting to turn up in large numbers, That 
notable meeting of Jul)-, 1 S60, attracted marks* 

by Goo 





men from all parts of the world, but only tour 
or five of the Swiss were able to hold their 
own against our Volunteers, though they were 
then but novices at rifle shooting. The 
Switzers took a few prizes at the shorter 


ranges, but were completely beaten at the 
longer distances. 

Nevertheless, the Swiss are still famous 
shots and love rifle shooting, and on Sundays, 
in the summer-time they may be seen in every 

village shooting for prizes, and the valleys re- 
echo with the ping of the rifle bullet on the 
old-fashioned iron targets, which they still 
prefer to the canvas substitutes which we use. 
Their neighbours the Tyrolese are almost 
as good marksmen, and take as great a pride 
in teaching their children the art of shooting. 
They may be seen winter and summer in the 
mountains snugly perched 
on some crag of porphyry 
or dolomite, attended by a 
youngster who watches 
with eager earnestness 
and evident delight the 
result of his father's effort 
to knock over a caper- 
ing wild goat half a mile 

There is only one 
other foreign sharpshooter 
about whom we propose 
to say a word, and that 
is the Boer of South 
Africa. Rorke's Drift and 
Majuba Hill told us only 
too well of their skill as 
sharpshooters, and though 
they are now principally 
occupied in agricultural 
pursuits, they generally 
ride from farm to farm 
armed with a good rifle, and carrying a well- 
filled bandoleer, ready to bring down any 
big game tht*y may come across. May they 
always confine their sharpshooting skill to 
like purposes. 


by GoOgk' 

Original from 

by Google 

Original from 




make a Yankee- latin pun- -is Jack, the 
American bison. There is a deal of beef 
behind Jacks skin, and dear beef, for 
there will never again be seen such 
another bison as Jack, and he is worth a 
deal of money. The bison which once 
paved the prairies with many miles of 
beef is now all but extinct — soon will be. 
Jack is not as friendly as he might be, 
I cannot claim to have slapped Jack on 
the back, as I have slapped many crea- 
tures that may seem wilder than any mere 
cattle. As a matter of sober truth, jack 
is about the most dangerous brute in the 
place. In the course of the preparation 
of this paper he has been found a dis- 
concerting animal to sketch — if the 
attempt be made from the door of his 
residence, while ( he takes his walks abroad 
in his front garden. For he has strong 
opinions in the matter of trespass, and 
turns them over in his mind as he stalks 
pastj afterwards communicating them to 

the trespasser by sundry 
glares of the eye, brandish 
ings of the tail, sudden 
approaches of the spacious 
countenance, and threaten- 
ing snorings; so that often 
the trespasser is fain to fall 
in with Jack's opinions sud- 
denly, and get out without 
wasting time on ceremony 
or picking things up. 

Original from 



Jack is not amiably even to relations. It is all a 

matter of space. Among his other strong opinions 

Jack has one, especially strong, on the question of 

adequate breathing and exercise area for a healthy 

bull Anything smaller than the space here at 

his disposal he regards as unhealthy for more 

than one animal, and is apt to maintain his 

opinion by indisputable demonstration. Place 


him with another 
animal in a restricted 
space, and you will at 
once perceive that the 
arrangement is ex- 
tremely unhealthy — 
for the other animal Jack puts down his head, and in 
a very little while his companion will probably be found 
dead frorn overcrowding. The most fatal sort of over- 
crowding I know of is Jack's, His front garden is of 

a size that satis- 
fies his notions, 
and he willingly 
allows the pres- 
ence of Nell, his spouse, and a calf; but if either of 
these ventured into his private sanctum behind, she 
would be overcrowded to a pulp in five minutes. 
Jack's outline — if you forget the tail—is grand, 



but his constant attitude of readiness to deal 
with a question of overcrowding gives him an 
air of clerkly and impartial attention, ignomin- 
iously suggestive of the Civil Service. His 
shaggy head, though, inclines him more to the 
aspect of the sham Bohemian. Still, however 
his appearance may strike the individual fancy, 
there is no doubt possible of the fact that 
he is for ever absorbed in profound medi- 
tation* Mere questions of air space and over- 
crowding, I am convinced f affect him with 
only a passing interest. In general he is 
pathetically brooding, with bowed head, over 
his nearly approaching extinction. Not that 





extinction is an 
not a rare and 
laments that he 
with him the last 
about the Indian 

unpleasant fate- 
envied dignity ? 

-for is it 
But he 

will drag into nothingness 
fragments of the old joke 
resolved on skinning the 
bison to make his wigwam t and the bison 
making the Indian's wig warm without waiting 
to be skinned. 

Jack's fore-end is by far more imposing to look at than 
the rest of him. He has neat* well-bred legs, and his 
steely muscles fill his skin well ; but that skin is a thread- 
bare piece of upholstery, and the nap only adheres in scanty 
patches, I would respectfully suggest to the authorities 

that a new skin for Jack (of good quality and permanent nap) be included in the next 
estimate for repairs. If, at the same time, the question of a new tail were considered, 
something would have been paid of the large debt of gratitude owing to the ox tribe for 

the many things — shoe -leather, horn coat- 
buttons, some part of what we buy for 
■^^C^y^ i'if^ffi*\ nulk, ox-tail soup, beef-tea, and bull's-eyes 

/^ - -that it gives to suffering humanity. Jack 

really does want a new tail He grew out 
of the present small fitting long ago, and 
now it presents a ludicrous want of balance 


with the opposite end. 
commonest pump is better off. 
The Indian buffalo, close by, is such a 
long - suffering and melancholy - looking cow 
that one immediately infers bad matrimonial 
eX]KTir-ii" es. She 

looks as though she had 

not yet recovered 

from the last 
connubial thrashing. Fortunately her husband 
is somewhere far away in Asia — and a 
truculent despot he probably is, For 
tearfully and mournfully as his ill-used 
spouse regards you, it would be inad- 
visable to tempt her too far in the matter 
of overcrowding. It is a sad and a 
pathetic face, but I shouldn't like it to 
hit me full-butt in the stomach with all the weight 
wealth of Bengalee cow-beef behind it. 

Over in the antelope-house there is a diversity of opinion 
in the matter of horns. The straight, the curved, 'WrjiijRSfi f^ 
the short, the regular, the barley-sugar and the iork-lightning,. , ,, _. 





pattern — all have their wearers. 
And every antelope is very 
serious — no antelope ever saw 
a joke- They meditate and 
take life with the melancholy 
characteristic of the solitary 
waiter who is left here at the 
refreshment-rooms all the winter, 
to make strange visitors wonder 
what he is being punished for. 
All but the gnus. The 
gnu is an animated joke 
in himself, and is apt to 
be struck by a sudden 
remembrance of his own ab- 
surdity, and to go tearing round 
his paddock enjoying the fun. 
The gnu seems to have been 
built by way of using up odd 
scraps of material after the 
completion of the bull, the 
horse, and the donkey ; and 
his fore-end and hind-end have 
an eternal air of never having 





been properly introduced to 
each other, and of each loudly 
asserting that the other is an 
entire stranger, like two hatters 
in adjoining shops with " no 
connection with the shop nest 
door." St ill, the gnu is not a 
creature of even temper, in this 
respect resembling the nylghai, 
whose repartee to any ill-con- 
sidered joke is apt to take the 
form of an awkward drive in 
the ribs. The nylghai is 
a well - groomed looking 
fellow, who perpetual]) 
chews the cud at double 
express speed, as though en- 
gaged in a perpetual match for 
the ruminating championship. 

But the low-comedy merchant: 
par cxcelknct of this department 




Original from 




is the bubaline antelope. His hoofs spread out before 
his shins like the long boots of the dancing nigger, 
his horns are of the loudest thunder-and-lightning 
pattern, his ears are of the wildest donkey-design, his 
head is that of a cheap tack-hammer, and his nose — 

but, there ; there is no describing that nose 
— it puts the ant-eater to shame. His bodily 
framework asserts itself through the inadequate 

skin in osten- 
tatious lumps 
and corners; as 
though about 
half of the bones 
had been sent 
home too large, 
with the skin 
originally in- 

tended for something 

two-thirds the buba 
line's size. The 

bubaline antelope 
is the quadruped 
embodiment of the 
Misfit as an institu- 
tion. And he is 
so hopelessly, la- 
mentably innocent 

and unconscious of his eccentricities ! Small 

boys stand before his den and scream 

with laughter; the bubaline looks 

at them with a mild and grieved 

surprise. He has heard hundreds 

of visitors laugh like that, and 

could never understand why it was 

done. What can it be? Any 

animal with a sense of humour 




would at least cover up that nose. Over in the house where once the giraffes lived, 
solemnly ruminate the stately zebus. The zebu is a grand piece of scenery, and 
looks as though it might carry with it some excellent cuts of beef. But it is not 
active, and only its ears betray the fact that the whole thing is not stuffed. And those ears 

bob and flap 
solemnly as 
though worked 
by some con- 
cealed official 
behind with 
a long string. 

by Google 

Original from 



By Deckles Willsgn* 

F ever, gentlest reader, you 
should chance to visit the fair 
at Starn — the Show Fair, it is 
called in the Canadian province 
—you may come upon a bloom- 
ing young woman in a flower 
booth. She will, doubtless, be standing among 
roses and ferns 3 mignonettes and tulip bulbs, 
and her wealth of shining black hair, you 
may even perceive, smoothed over her brown 
temples, falls in a long braid down her back. 
It was not always worn thus ; for^ many years 
ago, it had an odd habit of shooting upwards 
over her forehead. This was when Annette 
Pompin was a child, and earned for her a cer- 
tain sobriquet Quaint old Bedard, the school- 
master at Bonneval, saw it. He immediately 
christened the child Mademoiselle Pompa- 

Annette's father was the miller of Bon- 
neval He lived with his wife and two 
children in a cottage adjoining the millj 
which in those days was four miles from the 

One day — it was early in autumn — Pompin 
tcok the money which he had got from the 

season's grist of the farmers and, tying it 
up in a linen bag, handed it to his wife, 
saying :— 

u Here, Therfcse, you know best where tc 
hide this/ 7 

Madame Pompin was a hard-featured, 
close-fisted creature, who, in this respect, 
thoroughly justified the confidence her hus- 
band reposed in her- She well knew how to 
take good care of all the cash that touched 
her bony fingers* So Mine. Pompin took 
the money and thrust the linen bag into an 
old white stocking. After that she carried it 
down into the cellar and placed it behind 
one of the loose stones in the cellar wall No 
one would think of looking for it there. 

Late one night, some weeks after this had 
occurred, there was a hearty knock on the 
door of the Pompins. The family had 
retired, but the miller's w r ife at once stuck 
her head out of the window, and called 
out : — 

" Halloa^ you ! what do you want ? " 

It was just like Mme. Pompin, who was 
never frightened- Mme. Pompin was never 




was — hidden under the portico, only 
answered by a knock louder than before. 

Then Pom pin himself got out of bed, 
seized a candle, lit it, and went down and 
unbolted the door. Four men brushing past 
him stalked into the house. 

Now, Pompin was a good-natured, decent 
sort of soul — he might have made a capital 
schoolmaster — but, at this sight, his knees 
clapped promptly 
together like 

"Come, Miller 
Pompin," cried 
loudly one of the 
four, slapping 
him on the 
shoulder, " don t 
let's have any 
monkeying with 
the buzz-saw. No 
tomfoolery, Pom- 
pin. Where's the 
cash kept ? 7I 

It was not a 
cold night, but 
Pompin shivered 
in his shirt He 
was on the point 
of catching his 
breath to reply 
when his better 
half appeared. 
She had thrown 

on a shawl and a skirt of £tofife, and now 
stalked into the room with blazing eyes 
*' Shut up, Pompin ! " she began. 

r \ 

jpriginal from 



Pompin had not spoken. Nevertheless, 
he felt relieved. 

"Well, gentlemen, speak — what is it you 
want ? JJ 

Mme. Pompin addressed this question 
resolutely to the four robbers, 

"Hem — it's this way," said the leader. 
11 You have a little matter of four hundred 
dollars in the house. We are poor — we need 
it. It may be more, and it may be less, If 
it's more, we're not the men to stick at a few 
dollars* You shall have the benefit. If it is 
less, we shall take away a night-cap or a 
cheese or two to make up r We will give you 
five minutes to hand it over — otherwise — we 
shall take it by force ! " 

Mme. Pompin refused to be frightened. 
She only sneered 
politely. She 
laughed a dry 
little laugh only, 
responding in an 
icy tone : — 

"Vou have 
committed a mis- 
take. There is 
no money for you 
in this house. 
So you had better 

"Ha, ha! Go, 
is it ? " growled 
one of the men, 
rudely catching 
her round the 
arm. " Not with- 
out the money, 
beldame ! ■ 

Mme. Pom- 
pi n's eyes glit- 
tered cruelly. She 
drew herself up 
with wounded 
dignity. How 
dearly she would 

have loved to tear the infamous grkdirCs eye- 
balls out. Beldame, indeed ! Instead, 
however, of attempting anything so foolish, 
she merely said : — 

" Do not talk so loud, nVsieur. You will 
wake the children." 

At this injunction the ruffians lost what 
good grace they had, for they shouted with 
laughter. Two of them seized Pompin arid 
his wife and tied them, seated in two chairs, 
with ropes which they had brought This 
rendered it extremely impracticable for the 
couple to stir hand or foot. The others, who 
had meanwhile gone above to reconnoitre. 


returned just as their companions had com- 
pleted their task with the ropes. 

"There's nobody upstairs but the two 
brats," they reported. The words were 
hardly spoken when the voices of Annette 
and Andre were heard on the stairs. Little 
Andre' was bawling at the top of his lungs. 
He had taken the masked robber for the 
dreaded Loup-gar&u (Bogie-man). Annette, 
too, was frightened, but she did not scream ; 
she was far too frightened for that 

Instinct led these children to their mother 
Shu was sitting bolt upright, very white and 
glittering and still — like ice. The hysterical 
efforts of her offspring to wind themselves 
into her shawl and skirt were suddenly in- 
terrupted, The man who alone stood guard 

with a loaded 
revolver over the 
Pom pins rudely 
tore them from 
their scant 

"Come away, 
you little beggars. 
Go back to bed, 
both of you ! 
Don't you see 
your mother 
doesn't want 
you ? " 

Whereu pon 
both the children 
set up such a 
terrific babel 
that one of the 
robbers came 
hastily forward 
to quell it. He 
was less hard- 
hearted than the 

" Let the kids 
be, Tim," he 
said, savagely. 
Then, addressing the father, he continued, 
with an oath : " Look you, Pofnpin, we're 
doing our best to help you. We can ransack 
this house from top to bottom in less than 
two hours. If we don't find what we're after, 
then we'll furnish a pair of corpses towards a 
funeral, that's all." 

"Aye," said the man with the revolver, 
who stood guard, "if we go away empty- 
handed, ye'U stay empty-headed. Ha, ha ! 
Remember that, Miller Pompin ! " 

The miller shivered. He knew his wife 
would die — or, rather, which was not quite the 
same thing, s^e him die — before she would 





tell where the money was hid. But Annette 
and Andr£ were still clamorously weeping, 

" Curse you both ! Cant you do something 
to keep these brats of yours quiet ? " 

Mme, l J om pin was reasonable, She was 
appealed to by the robber. She opened her 
mouth at last 

" Pompin, amuse them/' she muttered 
between her thin lips. 

" Come here, met p fifes" said their father, 
soothingly. " Don't 
cry, Andrd Dry 
your eyes, Annette, 
there's a good dear. 
Fetch your slate, 
and papa will draw 
you pictures." 

The miller had 
considerable rude 
talent for drawing. 
As may be ima- 
gined, it was a 
source of rare de- 
light to both 
children, but espe- 
cially Annette, 
when their father 
could spare the time 
to make pictures of 
elephants and doiv 
keys, and fwssusiuid 
h ook -nosed giants, 
and all the other 
worthies of Cana- 
dian folk-lore for 
their edification, I n 
the midst of her pre- 
sent terror the idea 
had not lost all its 
charm for Annette, 
for she stopped 
sobbing at once, 

" Andre\" she ejaculated to the bawling 
infant, " papa ; s going to draw us pictures— 
look, pretty pictures ! f ' 

Andre's eyes stopped flowing on the spot, 
while Annette ran for the wonderful slate. 
As she removed it from the table the ruffian 
gave a grunt of satisfaction. It was his 
method of thanking Mme* Pompin. 

The miller was enabled just to move his 
arms below* the elbow, Annette and he 
held the slate in turns while he drew a row of 
grotesque outline figures by the candle-light 
Then he stopped drawing figures, and wrote, 
or rather printed, in capital letters, this : — 

" My darling Annette must not be frigh- 
tened. She must he brave. Pretend papa 
is still drawing* Then go into the kitchen 


the kitch, 

for a drink of w + ater* Do not come hack. 
You must run all the way to the village. 
Tell the priest robbers are going to kill your 
mamma and papa. Run as fast as you can. 
JJe sure and — — " 

As the robber made a movement forward 
Pompin was obliged to rub out what he had 
written. He had kept his little finger 
moistened for that purpose. But it was a 
false alarm. 

a Be sure and 
wrap up in my coat, 
but do not stop for 
anything else. God 
bless thee, my 

Pompin replaced 
these sentences 
with a very droll 
sketch of a Starn 
pig on horseback. 

The little heart 
of Mademoiselle 
Pompadour beat 
fast and furiously 
for a moment- 
Then she made her 
mind up, Andrd 
had gone to slum- 
ber on his father's 

" Please, Mr. Rob- 
ber, may me and 
my little brother go 
to sleep in the kit- 
chen?" she faltered. 
The ruffian gave 
his assent heartily. 
Mme. Pompin said 
nothing; but An- 
nette could not find 
the coat. 
The tiny feet of Mademoiselle Pompadour 
flew over the ground Never in her games 
with Andre had they run so fast What 
made it hard was her feet being bare 
and the stones in the roadway sharp and 

She ran on and on for over a mile with- 
out even stopping. The way was very lonely, 
and the tall pines frightened her — they were 
so dark and forbidding, When she rested 
the night air was cold, and she thought she 
heard the cry of a wolf. 

At the outskirts of the village lay the 
churchyard. It occurred to Annette to make 
a short cut over the churchyard wall, for she 
was very brave now, and the road did not 
run straight J i cjftufi I ftrogpt ting over she fell, 




and the shrill, piercing cry of the child rang 
out in the darkness, 

(i Who's there ? i} cried a voice. 

The bell of the ancient seigneury of 
Bonneval was ringing the hour of midnight. 
Pere Joseph was hastening to attend a mid- 
night mass, for which he was some moments 

" It's me ! " called Annette, when the bell 
had ceased ringing. 

Pere Joseph crossed over the wall, and the 
light from his lantern fell on the white, pant- 
ing, upturned face of the child, 

"Little Mademoiselle Pompadour! 75 he 
cried, in astonishment. He was a worthy 
priest. One does not see little girls lying in 
their night-gowns in the wet grass every night. 

She had broken her ankle and could not 

move, but in spite of the pain she told her 

It turned out an easy capture for the little 
armed band of villagers, headed by the 
forgeron^ who found the bandits in the 
cellar, and so shut them up as mice are 
shut up in a trap, until the morrow, when 
they were let out singly by the sheriff, each 
very thirsty and very hungry. 

But the strange part of the story is how 
the perilous proximity to her secret affected 
Mme. Pompin. The f#rger&n unbound her 
with his own hands, and the little gaping 
crowd of villagers marvelled that she never 
stirred muscle. She had always a weak 
heart, and her face remained livid as she sat 
bolt upright, clutching the sides of her 

Vol. viii. — 5. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speakers Chair. 


(viewed by henry W. LUCY,) 

WHILST even' body, with the 

LORD ROSE- . v* J e 

bkry's mis- P^P 5 solitary exception of 
fortune. Mr " L a ^ ouc here» admits Lord 
Rosebery's qualifications for the 
Premiership, there is 
one aspect unfavour- 
able to his claim which, 
as far as I have noted, 
has not been com- 
mented upon. The 
personal appearance of 
the new Premier does 
not adapt itself for 
familiar and friendly 
representation in the 
pages of Punch, Al- 
ready Sir John Tenniel 
has had occasion to 
try his practised hand, 
and the result has 
been a melancholy 
failure. The stout, 
elderly - young man 
entering the lists in 
the double cartoon 
which welcomed the 
appearance on the 
scene of the new 
Premier was like, and yet hopelessly unlike, 
the statesman who has fallen into the line of 
succession of his favourite Minister, Pitt ; not 
without reasonable expectation of emulating 
his fame. This is not Sir John Tenniel's 
shortcoming, as witness the spirited and 
picturesque appearance in the same block of 
Sir William Harcourt, squiring the new 
knight. Nor is it Lord Rosebery's fault. 
To quote the impressive phrase which occurs 
in the policies of marine insurance, it is 
"the act of God" 

There are some men whom the cleverest 
and most habile artist cannot present with 
that likeness yet touch of exaggeration 
essential to success in caricature. An 
example is to be found in the case of Mr, 
John MorleVi It would be hard, looking at 
his keen, intellectual face, to say why he is 
the despair of the caricaturist That such is 
the case will appear from any paper, whether 
weekly or daily, devoted to this class of art 
This inscrutable and inexplicable peculiarity is 
undoubtedly a misfortune for the public man 


whom it besets. As a rule, it will be found that 
all the men who have filled a prominent place 
in English political life during the last half 
century have been endowed with a personal 
appearance that has made it possible for 
Tenniel, or some of his colleagues on Punch, 
to create a counterfeit presentment which 
has struck the public fancy, and has made 
the statesman familiar in every household 
throughout the English-speaking world. 

It is by no means necessary, may 
„ h?^?.„ indeed be fatal to immediate and 

RANDOLPH f n ,, ^ „, ri 

full success, that the likeness 
should be of photographic fidelity. 
There is, for example, Harry Eurniss's Punch 
portrait of Lord Randolph Churchill At 
its inception Lord Randolph was invariably 
presented as a person considerably below the 
average height, he, as a matter of fact, being 
fully up to iL The ideal was created 
at a time when, leader of the numerically 
infinitesimal Fourth Party, he was emerging 
on the political horizon, and was nightly 
doing battle in the Parliamentary lists against 
the gigantic personality of Mr. Gladstone. 
When Lord Randolph first began to stump 


Original from 

f\nn "" vjnyiridi i ruin 




the country at political meetings he was 
conscious of a feeling almost approaching 
distrust of his identity. The British public 
had been educated to expect to see a little 
man, and when Lord Randolph, with his at 
least five -foot -eight of height, stepped on 
the platfonrij the audience were genuinely 

The same tradition has t through 

mr, g/s the same agency, attached to Mr. 
collars, Gladstone's collars, These are 
actually of fuller, looser make 
than has been the fashion 
of late years. I have an 
etching from Watts's por- 
trait of Mr. Gladstone 
painted some forty years 
ago- It bears, by the way, 
a striking resemblance to 
the eldest son of the house, 
William Henry, who died 
some years ago. Whilst 
he was yet with us in the 
House of Commons, sitting 
for ? I think, a Worcester- 
shire constituency, one was 
often struck by a look in 
his face that seemed to 
recall a something out of which his father had 
grown. I had not at the time seen this portrait 
of Watts's. Looking at the etching, the resem- 
blance between \W PL Gladstone at forty -five 
and his father at the same age is very striking. 

In this portrait the now famous Gladstone 
collars show with even fuller folds than have 
gladdened the eyes of the present generation. 
What has happened has simply been that the 
fundamental Conservative phase of Mr, 
Gladstone's character, in this connection 
untrammelled by the interests of the classes, 
has prevailed. When he was Under-Secretary 
for the Colonies and, later, Vice-President of 
the Board of Trade and Master of the Mint, 
gentlemen wore collars of a certain cut, 
comfortable and commodious, and he wears 
them to this day. 

I have heard that Mr, Gladstone at one 
time gTew a little weary of the iteration of the 
gigantic collars, A communication was made 
by one of the family to a member of the 
Punch staff. Mr, Gladstone, it was pointed 
out, was a constant student of the journal, 
the issue of whose first number he remem- 
bered. He had figured in its pnges in all 
guises, represented under all circumstances, 
and knew no occasion upon which he was 
not able to join in the genial merriment of 
the public. But hadn't there been enough 
about the fabulous collars ? 

they're not really so large. 




by LiOOglC 

The hint was taken as kindly as it was 
conveyed. Harry Furniss drew a picture in 
which the big collars were presented under- 
going the process of burial. But before long 
they were out again, flapping their folds in 
the political breeze. 

Mr- Gladstone, first in most things, fulfilled 
in largest degree the by no means immaterial 
qualification of a public man that his 
personal appearance should be capable of 
striking reproduction in the pages of Punch* 
His mobile face, his nervous figure, his 
unique personality throb 
through the pages of that 
periodical for more than a 
quarter of a century. The 
late Lord Derby, Lord 
Brougham f Mr. Disraeli, 
Mr, Bright, and at this 
day, happily for Punch and 
the public, Lord Salisbury 
and Sir William Harcourt, 
have each and all, in dis- 
tinct manner, this inde- 
finable quality. As yet 
Mr. Arthur Balfour has not 
taken on with conspicuous 
success. But he will do, 
will come out all right as fuller opportunities 
for study are provided. 

To his last appearance in the 
pages of Punch, John Bright was 
represented as wearing an eye- 
glass. To the readers of Punch 
the Tribune would not have been recognisable 
without an eyeglass. To his personal friends 
he would not have been recognisable with one, 
since he was never seen in its company. I 
once asked Tenniel why he always fixed him 
with the eyeglass. He said he did not know. 
It was there when he succeeded to the position 
of cartoonist, and he went on drawing it, 

"If," he added, "Mr, Bright does not 
wear an eyeglass, it is very wrong of him. 
He ought to do so." 

A similar mannerism was affected in all 
the cartoons in which Lord Palmers ton 
figured. Ever he was presented with a bit 
of straw between his teeth. This probably 
had its origin in the jaunty Premier's love of 
horse racing. At some time in mid-century, 
Leech or Doyle, full of stable associations, 
placed the straw in Para's mouth, and there 
ever after it remained. 

Lord Brougham's trousers of 

brougham's Brobdingnagian check pattern 

breeches, supply another instance of the 

success with which Punch has 

arbitrarily associated a fable with the personal 





appearance of a public man. Possibly at one 
period of his turbulent career Lord Brougham 
may have worn small-clothes of loud check 
pattern. But trousers of such design as 
Dicky Doyle clothed the Lord Chancellor's 
nether limbs withal were never seen on sea 
or land* Apart from this fanciful touch, 
Brougham's face was a priceless endowment 
to the caricaturist. A photograph of it in 
profile would have been "sufficient to illumine 
a satiric page. In the pages of Punch it lives 
through many years, sublimely grotesque 
with the slightest, subtlest touch of the 
caricaturist's pencil 

Mr- Field, the member for the 
St. Patrick's Division of Dublin^ 
has long endeared himself to the 
House of Commons by his 
picturesque dress and his fine oratorical 
style. As I 
showed last 
month, he 
shines most 
brilliantly in his 
process of in* 
t err oga ting and 
ing Ministers. 
He has a gen- 
uine thirst for 
information, al- 
most as con- 
suming as that 
which possesses 
Mr. Weir. That 
he can sustain 
an effort beyond 
that necessary 
for fragmentary 
on the occasion 
when Mr, John 
Morley intro- 
duced his Irish 
Evicted Tenants Bill Long looked forward to 
with keen interest by the Irish members, their 
reception of it was watched with some anxiety 
from the Treasury Bench. Mr, Field pre- 
sen ted himself as the spokesman of the little 
l J arnellite faction, and summed up tin- 
characteristics of the Bill in a sentence, 
(t As Scripture says," he remarked, inflating 
his chest, and rearranging his glossy curls 
behind his ear— u As Scripture says, 'it is 
all sound and fury signifying nothing/" 

This has not been beaten this Session, 
even by Dr, Macgregor 3 who, quoting the 
familiar remark, "When doctors differ, who 

Digitized by Google 

MR, FIE1-U* 

shall decide ? " recommended it to the 
attendance of the House as the utterance of 
Sydney Smith. 

sir bovle f **J* ^che never sat in 
the Parliament of the United 
Kingdom* He was member for 
Tralee in the Irish Parliament, 
representing it from 1775 till its dissolution. 
There was a Sir David Roche, Bart., in 
the House of Commons up to so recent 
a period as 1865, But he sprang from 
another stock. Sir Boyle's family belonged 
to Ferraoy, and as far as the baronetcy 
is concerned is now extinct. Happily the 
picturesque confusion of terms, the practice 
of which makes Sir Boyle's name live in 
history, still survives in the House of 
Commons, There are two of Sir Boyle 
Roche's bulls which still linger in the records 
of the Irish Parliament. "Mr* Speaker," he 
said, on one occasion, lamenting the cfi stress- 
fulness of Ireland, even then noteworthy, 
** single misfortunes never come alone, and 
the greatest of all national calamities is 
generally followed by one much greater." 
On another occasion he uttered the patriotic 
remark : " Sir, it is the duty of every true 
lover of his country to give his last guinea to 
save the remainder of his fortune." 

Mr, Shaw, for some time leader 
of the Home Rule Party, in 
succession to Mr. Butt and in 
advance of Mr Parnell, was not 
a man who might be expected to approach 
Sir Boyle Roche in his peculiar felicity of 
language. Yet there was one sentence of 
his, of which I have preserved a note, that rs 
reminiscent of the Tralee baronet's style, At 
one time during the earliest Home Rule 
campaign Mr. Shaw addressed a meeting at 
Cork, held on a Sunday. "They tell us," he 
said, "that we violate the Sabbath by being 
here to-day. Yet if the ox or the ass fall 
into the pit on a Sabbath day we are enjoined 
to take him out. Our brother is in the pit 
to-day — the farmer and the landlord are both 
in it, and we are come here to-day to try if 
we can lift them out" 

When Mr, Shaw came back to Westminster 
many efforts were made to get him to say of 
the farmer and the landlord which was the 
ox and which the ass- But he could 
never be induced to be communicative on 
the subject* 

In a Budget discussion during the Parlia- 
ment of 1880-5, Mr O'Connor Power re- 
marked t " Since the Government has let the 
cat out of the bag, there is nothing to be 
done but to take the bull by the horns." 
Original from 







The late A- M. Sullivan, a foremost figure in 
the same Parliament, assured me that when 
he was beginning his practice in Ireland he 
was present at a case where a small farmer 
brought an action against a neighbour for 
alleged malversation of three bullocks. His 
counsel* a well-known and popular member 
of the circuit, concluded his speech by saying : 
46 Gentlemen of the jury, it will be for you to 
say whether this defendant shall be allowed 
to come into court with unblushing footsteps, 
with the cloak of hypocrisy in his month, 
and draw three bullocks out of my client's 
pocket with impunity. + 

But Irish members have by no 

English means the monopoly of this 

bulls, particular turn of unconscious 
hum our. In this very Session 
Sir Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett, speaking in the 
debate on the Scotch Grand Committee, 
which he desired to show was designed as a 
forward movement of the Home Rule Party, 
said : " They are getting in the thin end of 
the wedge by a sort of side wind." 

A similar confusion of idea was more epi- 
gram in a tically expressed by another member 
whose name I forget at the moment, who 
warmly protested against the House of Com- 
mons permitting members to " open the door 
to the thin end of the wedge," It is quite a 
common thing for nervous members of all 
nationalities to conclude their speech with the 
remark: "And now, Mr Speaker, I will sit 
down by saying," 

The ready orator always finds it danger- 
ous to handle familiar tools and well known 
pieces of machinery, I remember a short 
sentence delivered by Mr* Hop wood, in the 
Session of 1879* Talking 
in Committee of Supply, 
on a vote for the expenses 
of vaccination, the present 
Recorder for Liverpool 
said : fl Don't drive the 
steam engine of the law 
over people's consciences," 
It was Mr, Alderman 
Cotton, a clear-headed 
man and an able speaker, 
to-day Remembrancer of 
the City of London, who 
turned out a gem of 
thought which I gratefully 
ridded to my collection. 
It was during debate on 
a motion made by Lord 
Hatting ton at a critical 
relations between Russia 
the year 1877 


moment in the 

and Turkey in 

t( Sir," said the Alderman, 

zed by Kj>< 

dropping his voice to a hushed whisper, " it 
requires only a spark to let slip the dogs 
of war." 

In this same Session Mr, Rodwell, then 
member for Cambridge, who has long since 
quitted the Parliamentary scene, was oppos- 
ing a proposition of the Chairman of Ways 
and Means affecting procedure in respect of 
private Bills* He piteously pleaded that, if 
carried, the amendment " would lead to gas 
Bills going into the House of Commons with 
a rope round their necks." 

It was Mr. Th wakes, Conservative candi- 
date for Blackburn, who made one of the 
freshest hits of the General Election of 1880. 
fl Unfortunately," he said, " the Government 
is on the wrong side of the book. But, 
however, we have a prudent Chancellor of 
the Exchequer and he has done his 
best, The right hon, gentleman has done 
what I would like you all to do, namely : 
When you lay an €gg r put it by for a 
rainy day." 

The Home Secretary is the last 
jit and man in the House of Commons 
tottle. who might be expected to dis- 
tinguish himself by a slip of the 
tongue. Yet there is an occasion, cherished 
to this day in the memory of young Cam- 
bridge, in which Mr. Asquith, entering this 
new field of competition, characteristically 
beat the record, It happened before he 
became a Minister. The Eighty Club were 
being entertained by the Cambridge Liberal 
Association, not without an eye on the 
pending general election, at which that eminent 
and impartial H coach," Mr, R, C. Lehmann, 
stood as the Liberal candidate, A great 
speech was expected 
from Mr Asquith, and 
he rose to the occasion. 
The Liberals were in 
high spirits, cheered by 
the result of a series of 
by-elections. Mr Asquith 
desired to let whomsoever 
was concerned know that 
in going to the country 
the Liberal Party stood 
by every plank of their 
Newcastle Programme, 
abating not one jot or 
tittle of their demands. 
In the heat and excite- 
ment of the moment, 
what he with tremendous 
emphasis declared was: "Let it be known, 
gentlemen, that of those just demands we 
abate not one jit or tottle." 




Young Cambridge was too polite to laugh 
outright at this slip on the part of its guest. 
Moderation was atoned for subsequently, 
wherever two or three were gathered together 
at the cheerful board. To this day " jit and 
tottle " is a catch phrase among those present 
on this interesting occasion. 

In a chatty record of Signor 
Crispin visit to Prince Bismarck 


at Fried rich smh, it is mentioned 
that one day at luncheon the 
Princess went up to Bismarck, and deftly 


adjusted his necktie, which had got almost 
under his right ear. "For fifty years/' said 
Bismarck, " I have been battling with my 
necktie. The bow will never remain in its 
place, but always turns round, and ever to the 
same side," 

It is a curious point of resemblance 
between two of the mightiest men living at 
the same time in European history, that the 
little peculiarity here noted by Bismarck as 
attaching to himself also beset Mr. Glad- 
stone. Often in critical epochs in the House 
of Commons, as he stood at the table 
adding to the record of momentous speeches, 
1 have watched his necktie slowly but surely 
creeping round. Its course was towards the 
left side, and when Mr. Gladstone resumed 
his seat after an energetic speech that had 
encroached far upon the second hour, his 
black necktie would be found ominously 
knotted under his Jeft ear, 

A certain indication of a great 
A ticklish speech from Mr, Gladstone, 
argument* whether as Premier or leader of 

the Opposition, was the appear- 
ance of a flower in his buttonhole — usually 

by LiOOglC 

the white flower appropriate to a blameless life, 
One time during a stormy epoch in the 
Parliament of 1880-5, the loving hand 
which thus decked him when he went forth 
to war selected a tall spray of lilies of the 
valley. As the Premier wanned to his 
speech, the little bouquet became dislodged. 
The spiky leaf was uplifted till it was high 
enough to touch the orator's jaw as he turned 
his head towards the Speaker's Chair. It was 
a serious time, and the speech was struck 
on the loftiest note. But it was irresistibly 
comical to see the Premier, absorbed in his 
theme, mechanically brushing away an 
imaginary fly whenever the motion of his 
head brought the tip of the leaf in contact 
with his cheek, 

When the present Government 

stars and was formed it was Sir William 

garters* Harcourt's boast that when he an d 

his colleagues sr.t in array on the 
Treasury Bench in the House of Commons, 
they would possess the unique distinction of 
not having amongst them a single ribbon or a 
solitary star Early last year the spell was 
broken by the creation of a Knight Com- 
mandership of the Bath. But the ribbon 
was flung around the most modest and 
retiring figure on the Bench ; and people 
did not notice ur, having seen, forgot it. 
During the present year the Chancellor of 
the Exchequer has been known to repeat the 
proud boast, 
forgetful that 
Sir John Hib- 
bert is K.C.B, 
Even with 
that exception 
the common- 
alty on the 
Bench is highly 
as compared 
with many 
strata of pre- 
decessors. Sir 
William Har- 
court himself 
has a handle 
to his name, 
but that was 
the inevitable 
corollary of his 
exceedin gly 
brief career as 
ral, Sir Walter 

Foster w-as . slR JOH * menm. 

Original from 





created a baronet, whilst to Sir George 
Trevelyan and Sir Edward Grey baronetcies, 
like reading and writing in Dogberry's time, 
come by nature* There are also the Attorney- 
General and the Solicitor-General, who must 
needs be knights. With these exceptions, men 
who are practically the fountain of honour are 
chary about sprinkling its waters upon them- 
selves. Ml Gladstone undoubtedly did much 
to maintain a lofty tradition founded by Mr. 
Pitt and Mr. Fox, I suppose he has made 
more marquises, dukes, and a' that, not to men- 
tion bishops, baronets, deans, and knights, than 
any statesman of modern times. And yet to 
the end of the chapter he remains plain ** Mr," 
Mr. Disraeli was not able to with- 
stand the glittering lure of a 
coronet The temptation to 
transmute into actual life the 
Lord Beaconsfield of his early novel was, 
apart from other considerations, irresistible. 
But there was one other high tradition of 
English public life which the statesman 
whom his own political party at one time 
derided as an adventurer passed onward 
unstained. Master at various epochs of State 
secrets that might have been transmuted into 
fabulous w r ealth, Disraeli never was a rich 
man, and his chief sustenance, not counting 
what came to him with his wife, was the 
fruits of hard labour. 

This state of things is happily so much a 
matter of course in English political life, that 
it seems almost an insult to comment upon 
its unbroken record. It is, nevertheless, a 
striking fact which, more especially when con- 
trasted with wholesale charges and allegations 
made against public men in a neighbouring 
country, is something to be proud of 

There is no doubt that, regarded 
A point of from the point of view of 
honour, pecuniar)' recompense, the service 
of the richest State in the world 
is poorly paid. It would not be difficult to 
add up the amount Mr, Gladstone has 
received in the way of salary through his 
more than sixty years' service to the State, 
Compared with the wage his supreme genius 
would have earned had it been directed 
in any other channel, the aggregate is 
pitiful in amount. Unlike Mr. Disraeli, 
Mr. Gladstone has never accepted the pension 
available for Cabinet Ministers who care to 
make the declaration that would yield them 
the possession. Neither for himself nor his 
family has he been inclined to accept 
a penny more than w r as actually due to him 
in the shape of wages for work done. 
With all the fat places of the Church at his 

Digitized by G< 




disposal, his son lives contentedly in 
the family parsonage, whilst his daughter 
married a curate, who, as far as the Premier 
was concerned, received no preferment 
When he was returned to office in 1880, at 
the head of an overwhelming majority, with 
the Ministerial offices at his absolute com- 
mand, he appointed his son, Herbert, his 
private secretary, the special arrangement 
being made that no 
salary should be at- 
tached to the office. 
It was not till Mr, 
Gladstone had retired 
from active participa- 
tion in Ministerial 
affairs that the mem- 
ber for West Leeds 
received due recog- 
nition of long, ar- 
duous, and distin- 
guished services to the 
Liberal Party, being 
made First Commis- 
sioner of Works. 

It is gener- 
ally sup- 
posed that 
it is only 
ex - members of the 
Cabinet who may benefit by the Political 
Offices Pensions Act of 1869. The pensioners 
are in nearly every case ex-Cabinet Ministers, 
but the rule is not inexorable. One of the 
earliest pensioners, a gentleman who for nearly 
twenty-four years has been draw ing a yearly 
income out of the coffers of a grateful nation, 
is Mr* Headlam, who represented Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne for over a quarter of a cen- 
tury. He was Judge -Ad voca t e - Ge ne ra I 
from 1859 to 1866, acting also as Secretary 
to the Treasury for a year in the closing 
period of his office. These are services 
which, probably, in this less sentimental age, 
would scarcely be regarded as warranting a 
pension. Mr. Head Li m had the good for- 
tune to make his application in 1870. 

The oldest pensioner is Mr. C 
Villiers, Father of the House 
Commons, who entered it 
member for Wolverhampton 
the year 1835, and still sits for the borough. 
It would be too much to say that the Political 
Offices Pensions Act was created for the 
benefit of Mr. Villiers. But it is true that 
within a few weeks of the Act being added 
to the Statute Book a pension was granted 
to the member for Wolverhampton, then of 
the conrparatively juvenile age of sixty-seven. 







4 o 


Styiti ,5c 

Like Mr. Headlam, Mr, Villicrs had held 
the office of Judge-Advocate-General, being 
in a subsequent Ministry promoted to the 
Presidency of the Board of Trade, which he 
held from 1859 to Midsummer, 1866. 

No place was made for him in the Ministry 
of 1 868, but Mr. Gladstone, careful for the 
welfare of former colleagues, passed the 
Political Offices Pensions Act even amid the 
herculean labour of dealing 
with the Irish Church ; and 
gave his old friend the 
benefit of its earliest dis- 
pensation* As sometimes 
happens to annuitants, Mr. 
Villiers still lives on to 
green old age, Up to last 
Session he was vigorous 
enough to come down at 
the crack of the Tory whip 
to vote against his old 
chief and his old party. 
During the present Session 
he has been paired with 
Mr. Gladstone, their united 
ages being 177. 


YOUNGER comes next on 
pensioners, honour, his 

back to October, 1881, At 
least he had the claim of incessant work in 
a high position, under which his health broke 
down. He held in succession 
the offices of First Lord of the 
Admiralty, Secretary of State 
for War, and Chancellor of 
the Exchequer. For many 
years Mr. Shaw-Lefevre drew 
the pension, resigning it when 
his private circumstances no 
longer justified the declaration 
which must be made before 
the pension is assigned. 

When what Mr. Chamber- 
lain in unregenerate days 
called the Stop-Gap Govern- 
ment came into office in 1885, 
one of its earliest acts was to 
make provision for two of its 
most esteemed members. On 
the 6th of July in that year 
Parliament re-assembled, after 
adjournment for the election 
of new Ministers* Four days 
Later the names of Lord John 
Manners and Sir Stafford 
Northcote were added to the 

x st of 
As he 


the roll of 
pension dating 

Pension List. Lord Iddesleigh lived only 
eighteen months to enjoy the well-earned 
recognition of a useful and unselfish life. 
Lord John Manners, succeeding to the 
Dukedom of Rutland, resigned his pension 
in March, 18S8. A few days later it was 
bestowed upon Sir Michael Hicks-Beach, 
who still retains it In 1892 Lord George 
Hamilton found himself in a position 
to make the necessary 
declaration, and obtained 
the reversion of Lord Id- 
desleigh's pension. 

Lord Cross's 
dates from the 
January, 1877. 
was at that time Sec- 
retary of State for 
India, drawing a salary 
of ^5, 000 a year, he 
of course would not 
add on the pension. He 
was simply, to adapt Mr, 
Thwaites's imagery quoted 
on an earlier page, getting 
the Treasury to lay for 
him an egg which he put 
by for a rainy day. This came with the 
General Election of 1892, and since Xhen 
Lord Cross has drawn his pension. The 
last name on the list, though not in point of 
date, is that of Lord Emly, whose pension 
dated from Midsummer 
Day, 1886, His claim rested 
on the fact that as Mr. 
M on sell, for many years 
member for County Limerick, 
he successively served as Sec- 
retary to the Board of Trade, 
Under-Secretary for the 
Colonies, and Postmaster- 

Lord Emly's recent death 
leaves a pension vacant. There 
can be little doubt as to the 
quarter in which it will be 
disposed. In this connection 
it is interesting, summing up 
the list, to find that, as be- 
tween ex-members of Liberal 
Cabinets and ex-Conservative 
Cabinet Ministers, the pro- 
portion stands as one to 
three — Mr. Childers against 
Lord Cross, Sir Michael 
Hicks-Beach, and Lord George 


by Google 

Original from 

The Duke of Saxe-Cohurgs Palaces. 

By Mary Spencer-Warrkx. 

HE old Castle of Coburg, 
around which the town has 
really grown up t is situated on 
the summit of a hill, nearly six 
hundred feet above the level 
of the town, and has perhaps 
the most interesting and historical associations 
of any castle in the Duchy. For a consider- 
able period it was a Royal residence ; and 
during the Diet of Augsburg in 5530, it was 
a house of refuge for Luther, and one may 
now see the rooms which he occupied in 
exactly the same state as they then were. 
The little iron bedstead on which he slept, 
the table at which he studied and wrote, and 
other articles are indissolubly connected with 
the religious struggle of the period. Early in 
[600 Wallenstein laid siege to the castle; 
but successful resistance was made t and he 
had to retire defeated. 

At the end of the last century, or early in 
the beginning of this, the castle was turned 
into a prison, but in 1838 it was completely 
restored, and is now practically a museum, 
to thoroughly 
inspect which 
would very well 
occupy a day or 
two. Of the im- 
mense solidity of 
the building you 
can form some 
idea by the ac- 
companying pic- 
ture, which shows 
the spiked and 
strongly -guarded 
entrance. Situa- 
ted as the castle 
is at such a great 
height, you can 
as well imagine 
as I can describe 
the steep ap- 
proach thereto ; 
but it is char- 
mingly pictur- 
esque, and the 
view from the 
summit well re- 
pays the really 
arduous climb. 
At the foot of 


£ Shjgrf, Jii'p'i' r»? 

by v 

the hill is the Schloss Ehrenberg, a hand- 
some palace in the Early English Gothic style, 
the original part of which was formerly a 
monastery* It was rebuilt and much added 
to by Duke Ernest I. in 1549, and was then 
at once converted into the chief Ducal re- 
sidence of the town, a position which it has 
since maintained. In the centre of the 
platz in which it is situated stands a statue 
in bronze of Duke Ernest L, executed by 
Sch wan thaler ; surrounding which are some 
prettily laid-out beds and colonnades, one 
side of the platz having two flights of steps 
leading up to what is known as the 4| Hof- 
garten." In this u Hofgarten !1 may be seen 
a pavilion with a cast of the Prometheus 
group by Miiller, also the mausoleums of 
Duke Francis and the Duchess Augusta 
Caroline. This is also the road to the old 
castle of which I have already spoken* 

Passing across the courtyard, and enter- 
ing beneath the archway, I immediately 
mount the grand staircase, with roof and 
walls of marble, the stairs being hand- 
somely carpeted 
in green plush 
with a crimson 
border; balus 
trades in white 
and gold, with 
the hand-rail 
covered in green 
plush. Several 
marble sculp- 
tured figured, 
some bronze 
statuary, vases 
and urns of palms 
and ferns, and in 
each corner, and 
on each lobby, 
banks of the 
same, with beauti- 
ful camellia trees 
in full flower — 
all combine to 
present a very 
effective appear- 

From here I 
go first through 
the picture gal- 
lery, and direct 




From a PAoHs. &jr] 


\ftunti d. M 

into the '* Risen saal " — or Giants' Hall ; truly 
the most magnificent apartment of the palace* 
Right round the room are columns faced 
by twenty-eight caryatides, each supporting 
candelabra of crystal and ormolu, contain- 
ing wax candles. In addition there are also 
three immense ormolu and crystal chande- 
liers, and in two of the corners lofty porcelain 

candelabra on pedestals* Quite within the 
last few weeks the electric light has been 
carried into the hall. The painting and 
sculptured relief of the ceiling are truly 
exquisite. The centre painting shows the 
noonday sun with an eagle flying in its direct 
rays; smaller paintings surrounding repre- 
senting the clouds ; outer-painted panels 

tYvm « l*h<< f 

by GO 

THvivsTV hall- eHHEst«iro;.Qriginal from 

(Crwriri *t Ht mtri 



showing the arms 
of all branches of 
the family, 

At one end of 
the room is a large 
tablet recording a 
visit of Queen 
Victoria and the 
Emperor Joseph of 
Austria, in 1S63. 
A large number of 
beautiful mirrors, 
the sculptured 
busts of the Duke 
and Duchess, and 
the handsome 
tapestry curtains 
depending from 
the gold cornice- 
work, the rose- 
wood, crimson and 
white and gold 
furniture, all present a very brilliant effect 
The floor is of inlaid oak, kept in a highly 
polished state for dancing. The hall, how- 
ever, is used for other purposes, and comes 
much into requisition now — the week of the 
Royal wedding. As I write, a large stage is 
erected at one end for a theatrical perform- 
ance, at which the Queen and the entire 

From a Fhvttf. by\ 


[Gujitt <f Stuart. 

number of Royal personages in Coburg will 
be present 

The first room I enter, called the State 
drawing-room, seems to be really the ante- 
room to the throne-room. It has a beautiful 
ceiling, with decoration of fruit and flowers 
in relief. The walls are hung in red, with 
frame-work and beading of gold, on them 

fltfffl (i J'huto by 1 



pEajFTioj^ftww— eH^NiiEKtiOriginal from i^hhw j #<*«** 



being portraits of the Emperor and Empress 
Frederick, the Duke and Duchess of Kent, 
the late Duke of Albany, etc* 

When I entered the throne-room, every table 
and every spot was filled with basket-work of 
every description, size, and shape. One of the 
Queen's officials had been commissioned to 
make large purchases in the town, and Her 
Royal Highness the Princess Beatrice was 
busy arranging the collection in readiness for 
Her Majesty's inspection. It is well known 
that both the Queen and her daughter take 
much interest in straw and basket work, more 
especially, perhaps, in the former ; the Queen, 
indeed, has been wont to occupy some of her 
very few leisure moments for years jxist in 
the manipulation of this article, and I have 
it on good authority that the Princess Beatrice 
has so successful ly mastered the art that she 
has just turned out a very serviceable hat for 
her husband, But this is rather a digression* 
and I will now call your attention to the 
State reception-room. 

This is hung in very fine Gobelins 
tapestry, the figures thereon reminding one 
of Her Majesty's Indian Empire. The 

ceiling is in relief, showing crowns, roses, and 
figures, The walls ar^ marble, fronted with 
Corinthian marble columns. 

The carpet is Axminster, with pattern of 
roses and leaves. The furniture is white and 
gold frame-work, upholstered in gold and 
blue satin; curtains are to match, with inner 
ones of real lace. 

Her Majesty's sitting-room opens from this, 
and when I enter one morning soon after seven, 
I feel that this is the most important room in 
the whole palace. It is a very beautiful 
room, but looks also a business room, for 
despatch boxes and documents of formidable 
aspect are prominent. The ceiling is of imi- 
tation marble, with a painted floral centre; 
from it hangs a costly chandelier of crystal 
and ormolu, the upper part being draped in 
crimson velvet The floor is covered in 
crimson and pale green Axminster The 
doors of the room are rosewood, with black 
beading ; the furniture also of the same, and 
covered in crimson velvet to match the hang- 
ings. On the chiflbnniers I note some rare 
pieces of Sfevres, several portraits of Her 
Majesty's grandchildren, and also some of 

t't^m m I'hvtv by 




the favourite dogs. The writing- 
table stands nearly in the centre 
ot the room, and without, of 
course, making a close exami- 
nation, I note a handsome gold 
ink-bottle t surmounted by a 
crown f several miniatures and 
portraits of the Royal Family, 
a quantity of roses, tulips and 
lilies, in exquisite specimen 
glasses ; and a mass of corre- 
spondence in neat piles. The 
chair in front of the table is of 
gold over-burnish, upholstered 
in gold and cream brocade, 
having also a back pad ; the 
whole being covered with lace. 

On another table is a col- 
lection of periodicals, illustrated 
and otherwise ; several hand- 
somely bound volumes, amongst 
which I notice " Echoes from 
a Sanctuary," with markers in- 
serted at presumably favourite 
passages. Two very beautiful 
screens are worth notice ; one 
of floral handwork in a rose- 
wood frame, and one exquisitely 
painted on glass* On a chair lies the handsome 
shawl and lace scarf which I had seen Her 
Majesty wearing late in the day yesterday, 
and 1 certainly do look at them and note 
their beauty. 

In the same wing is the suite of apartments 

/-Virjji u WiMif. ItMl 


\tjitnn it .a nan, 


Ffutfi a J-'tata fcf J 

Itfit. KA 

set apart for the Kaiser, comprising 
handsome and commodious rooms, 1 

The bedroom has a ceiling painted in 
gold, cream, and pale blue, with walls hung 
in blue silk brocade, relieved with marble 
alcoves in each corner. In the centre hangs 

a brass and crystal 
chandelier, and in 
various parts of the 
room are eight tall 
and massive silver 
candlesticks. Some 
fine paintings are 
on the walls, and 
a very large mirror 
in white and gold 
frame* The suite 
of furniture is in 
rosewood, with 
carvings to match 
walls ; the chest of 
drawers is Am- 
hoyna. The bed 
is quite a feature , 
it is surmounted 
by a crown, fitted 
in blue silk bro- 
cade, and hung with 
white curtains of 
real Brussels lace. 
The sitting-room 


4 6 


Frvm el i'kulct, cVjf| 


adjoining is decorated in much the same 
manner: the walls, however, being hung in 
red silk brocade, with curtains of the same, 
but lined with gold, and having inner ones 
of real lace. The furniture is also covered 
in red silk with rosewood frames. Under 
a large mirror between the windows is a 
splendid marble- 
topped ormolu table, 
having therein a 
timepiece and two 
candelabra of the 
same metal At one 
side of the room is 
a rosewood piano of 
German make, and 
opposite is a mosaic 
table supported by 
columns of marble 
and platinum 
mounts : on this 
table stands a beau- 
tiful hand -painted 
vase* His Imperial 
Majesty's writing- 
table is large, and 
handsomely fur- 
nished with all 
necessaries, with 
gold crowns and in- 
scriptions ; blotting- 
books, pens, etc., 
just as the Kaiser 

had used them ; 
in front of which 
stands a carved 
oak and tapestry 
covered chair, 

From here I go 
on to the household 
dining-room ; this 
having a cloud, 
flower t and fruit 
painted ceiling, 
interspersed with 
figures in stucco 
relief. The chande- 
liers are very 
massive — of brass ; 
the furniture of 
white and gold; the 
walls are of marble, 
on them being large 
and beautifully 
framed mirrors, 
with plaster casts 
over the doorways, 
showing crowns, 
wreaths, etc. ; the 
hangings are all in rich crimson. The tables 
are just laid, and very pretty they look, with 
the plate, flowers, and other accessories. 

Stepping out of this room you come to a 
door immediately on your right hand — this is 
the entrance to the suite occupied at the 
present time by the Prince of Wales. It is 

{Gurtn A Stuart. 

froniapfccta, tyi the prince of iyaless stTTUwipWaWlwwn&EKQ. 


[(/«mj| tt $fttqr( 



exactly what if is 
Royal Highness 
likes — a quiet 
corner, with an 
extensive view of 
town and country 
from its windows. 
The two rooms are 
quite plain, with 
oaken floors, ceil- 
ings in plaster 
relief, and walls 
covered with green 
flock-paper. I 
notice in the sit- 
ting-room a bust 
of Voltaire, some 
old paintings, a 
fine tiger skin, 
writing, smoking 
tables, etc, and 
the usual collec- 
tion of articles 
found in such 
rooms. But as 
there is not much 
worth mention 
beyond the fact 

that they are in the occupation of the Prince, 
I just secure one photograph and hurry off 

The next suite I enter is that of the 

JfanH a i'kufa. l>!/\ 


[trutui <£ Stuart. 

rfclNCES* HENJEV OJF Ha I ii -.11 if*,'* SITTING-ROOM- 

Empress Frederick. The sitting room has a 
very prettily hand-painted floral ceiling ■ the 
walls are draped in satin of alternate stone and 
navy stripe, with curtains and furniture all to 

match, the win- 
dows also having 
inner curtains of 
real lace. The 
furniture itself is 
all of walnut, with 
ormolu mounts, 
the writing-table €ii 
suite showing a 
blue satin top 
There is a bust uf 
the Prince Consort, 
two or three good 
paintings, and a 
very handsome 
screen with art 
needlework and 
hand painting in 
combination. The 
floors in this suite 
are covered in 

The bedroom is 
decorated in much 
the same character, 
only that the walls 
are here hung in 




grey and green. All the doors are in 
white, with gold beading, There is a very 
handsome chandelier — not of the ordinary 
type, as it is of alabaster with metal mounts. 
The bedstead is quite a work of art, having 
very beautiful gold carving, silk coverlets, and 
real lace hangings. Quantities of flowers 
make the rooms look bright and pretty. 

I have another room on the opposite side 
to visit — the sitting-room of Her Royal High- 
ness the Princess Henry of Batten berg. This 
apartment has a beautiful outlook right over 
the Schloss Flatz; it is charmingly pretty— 
every recess and every available corner being 
crowded with flowers. Birds and flowers are 
painted on the ceiling, the relief of which is 
also very fine. The floor is inlaid, scattered 
with Persian rugs. The hangings are of 
stone and blue silk, with inner ones of real 
lace. Over at one side is a boudoir grand, 
open and scattered with music; near it being 
indications of quite another sort of occupa- 
tion, namely, a large basket of knitting; 
the sort of work all our Princesses do in 
their spare moments for the benefit of the 
needlework and other guilds with which the 

majority of them are connected. Ix*ts of 
portraits may be seen in every direction 
numbers of which represent the very pretty 
children of their Royal Highnesses. 

You will understand that it was not here 
that the I>uke and Duchess were actually 
residing. They were on the other side of 
the platz, at what is known as the " Schloss 
Edinburgh." Here I made my way early one 
morning — before the family were really up, 
being compelled, as they were in residence, 
to attend either at a very early hour or when 
they were out for any photographic purposes. 
It is a pretty but not large house, standing 
in its own grounds exactly opposite to the 
other Schloss. 

I enter from the garden, and proceed by 
a covered veranda direct to the glass room. 

This is an antique-looking apartment with 
cawed oak ceiling and walls, midway on the 
latter being a projecting shelf widening 
out at the mantel piece to beautiful caned 
projections. On all of these shelves is a 
wonderful collection of glass. It seems to 
be one of the hobbies of His Royal 
Highness the Duke to collect glass from 

From a I%4v. bjf] 


oss Ei)i\ui'i«.iJs jr| 9 |nai rrom ;<;«»» a .«««rt. 





ever) 1 quarter of the globe, the result 
being a large number of specimens both 
unique and costly. Over the mantel is a 
fine painted panel, the mantel itself being 
composed of rare china. (ilass cabinets 
and cupboards 
are filled with such 
costly curios as is 
customary in these 
Royal houseSjinany 
of them presents 
in commemoration 
of same civic or 
official ceremony- 
There is a fine 
painting of the 
Duke on one side 
nf the room and an- 
other of one of his 
daughters taken 
some few years 
back. Choice w ood 
tables with ormolu 
mounts, and octa- 
gon tables inlaid 
with mother-of- 
pearI T and quantities 
of flowers (of which 
t h e I <m p e r i a I 
Duchess is very 
fond) are every 
where en evidence. 
Vol. viij -7, 

The drawing- 
room is wondrously 
pretty. Note the 
very admirable 
arrangement of 
the statuary, ferns, 
and flowers ; the 
tastefully arranged 
Curios, portraits, 
medallions, and all 
the little accesso- 
ries of a well- 
appointed drawing- 
room* The same 
cream and gold 
decoration of ceil- 
ing and Persian 
floor covering pre- 
vail as in the smaller 
room, the furniture 
being of over-bur- 
nished gold and 
floral velvet of a 
strawberry hue, On 
the walls are some 
fine landscapes and 
a naval picture* 
The dining - room has a fine ancient 
carved oak ceiling, with walls in flock- 
paper. Here, too, is a part of the wonderful 
collection of glass and pieces of plate 
for which the Duke is famous. I take 

f'njm *i I'huti 

ttogk* 1 



[fjuttn t\ Stuart. 




up several goblets ' and tankards, find- 
ing in each of them records of time and 
place of purchase- Within the last few weeks 
the electric light has been carried into this 
palace, and here you see costly new fittings 
for the same. It is not only that new light- 
ing arrangements were needed, but varieties 
of repairs in all directions, and in every 
castle appertaining to the Duchy ; and I am 
told that His Royal Highness is spending 
considerable sums of money in carrying out 
the absolutely necessary alterations. 

Just before the Royal wedding this room 
was crowded day after day with members of 
the various Royal Families then assembled 
in Coburg, who dined at this table, unless a 
State dinner was being given in the opposite 
Schloss ; whilst outside the bands, alternately 
of the Prussian Dragoons and the Thurin- 
gians, discoursed sweet music. The hangings 
of the room are of 
green ; the furniture 

comfort. But as I have now one other 
palace to describe, I decide not to further 
linger here, as the Schloss Rosenau is a 
palace which must not be dismissed in a 
few words. 

This Schloss is situated in one of the 
most picturesque parts of Saxon Germany, 
When I say that it was the birthplace of His 
late Royal Highness the Prince Consort, lam 
sure of at once commanding your interested 

From its gardens the view is simply magni- 
ficent, and one that must really he seen to 
be understood. Beneath the terraces runs a 
winding stream, with the sounds of a water- 
fall in the distance. On the left, and in the 
groimdsj is a castellated tower with porter's 
lodge. Shrubs and trees are in profusion. 
Over tne fields is seen a village lying beneath 
the shelter of towering hills. I should not 

■ „ 


1 t^j M 

* ^i"* 


r^m .J&f~ .-' . ■ 




<J#*^t m* 

j&Sm / WF. - 1 

' > 


*V,:V JSF 

* jfej 








1 * 

*- si 






being upholstered in 
leather of the same 
colour It is a par- 
ticularly light and 
pleasant room, the 
windows on one side 
looking out into the 
very tastefully laid 
out gardens, and on 
the other, on turf- 
coveted banks, 
quantities of fine 
trees, the Greek 
Church, of which 
you know Her Im- 
perial Highness is 
a member, and the 
distant hills in the 

On the other side 
of the staircase, and 
passing through the 
serving -rooms, you 
enter immediately into the billiard-room. Here 
you are greeted with evidences of the great 
love for sport which is characteristic of the 
Duke and his brothers. Three large bears 
stand erect in various corners, shot in Russia 
by the Duke in 1883, while all around the 
walls, as well as from the top to the bottom 
of the staircase, I noted quite a multitude of 
deer- horns, which testify to the prowess of 
the Duke in his shooting expeditions. Each 
of these bears a small plate recording date 
and place. 

This Schloss is not particularly large ; what 
it has not in si/(j it certainly makes up for in 


From it PhaLt. hy\ 


I (/unn * £tnarL 

like to give an estimate of how many miles 
one is able to see, but certainly the view is 
one of the finest of the very fine ones of the 

Walking round the grounds I pause to 
admire the scenery, and at the same time 
secure one or two good exteriors Then 
I enter by a small iron gate, and bearing 
in mind the connections of the place, 
proceed direct to the room in which the Prince 
Consort was born* Simple in the extreme, an 
oaken floor, with papered ceiling and walls, and 
plain furniture with chintz covers. On one 
side stands £]tfgjffltf ^ftWh wooden bedstead, 




From a Fttoto. by U Hun & Stuart. 

with a coverlid of quilted magenta; on the 
other an antique cabinet and chest of 
drawers. Several old paintings are to be 
seen on the walls, the chief one of which is 
descriptive of a hunting scene immediately 
near the old castle ; in it are several figures 
that are really portraits ; the principal ones 
being the Prince Consort and his brother 
the Duke Ernest, and Prince Leopold— he 
who is known to us as having married the 
Princess Charlotte of Great Britain, and 
afterwards became the King of the Belgians* 
After leaving this room I go to the one 
where the two 
brothers studied 
together many 
years ago ; this is 
situated right at 
the top of the 
house and of 
course has a most 
charming outlook. 
An oaken floor and 
a plastered ceiling 
with pink-papered 
walls, and a num- 
ber of prints 
thereon, with some 
walnut-fr a med 
furniture, nearly 
black with age, are 
the predominant 
appointments. On 
a small table at one 
side stands the delf 
toilet set formerly 

used by the Prince 
Consort, and a fine 
painting of His 
Royal Highness is 
hanging in close 
proximity, Also a 
painting of Her 
Majesty when an 
infant — which I 
place on a chair 
for greater promi- 
nence. Here the 
two brothers spent 
many happy hours, 
none the less sa 
for the real work 
which they had to 
get through, for 
both the Princes 
possessed abilities 
and intellect of no 
mean order ; abili- 
ties which were 
destined to shine in the world's history, 
Of the splendid services rendered to art and 
science in all its branches by the one who 
came over to wed Victoria, Queen of Eng- 
land, it is not necessary for me to speak — it 
is indelibly recorded in the pages of Eng- 
land's history, 

Going into another room in the upper 
part of the house, I find on the wall a paint- 
ing of Her Royal Highness the Princess 
Victoria, now our Queen, representing her 
as a wee child cuddling her favourite dog, 
This seemed to me to be well worth photo 

From a Pkoh*. 1]/] 

i by \j*Q( 

TIDY OF PRINCE AL fc£K ] fVfjHE-N j A. *bl£p^L*»fiS A 

[(ximn <t Htwiri. 




graphing ; carry- 
ing one back as 
it does over a 
period of seventy 
years j when the 
parents of the 
little Princess 
scarcely dreamed 
of the future 
exalted position 
their little daugh- 
ter would be 
called upon to 

Passing down 
the staircase I 
enter some of the 
State apartments 
of the castle, 
making indeed an 
entire circuit of 
these rooms, but 
only photograph- 
ing one as a speci- 
men : this one* 
being a drawing- 
room now used 
by Her Imperial 
Highness the 
Duchess of Saxe- 
Coburg and Gotha, but formerly 
Queen Victoria's drawing-room. 




this castle soon 
after her marriage 
to the Prince 
Consort ; inter- 
mediate visits 
have been paid, 
t}ut as I write 
this Her Majesty 
has just left from 
w T hat I suppose 
will be her last 
visit for some 
time to come. 

One can easily 
imagine that the 
memories which 
this place must 
bring before the 
Queen must be 
many and varied ; 
perhaps predomi- 
nantly saddening. 
It is well known 
that she is very 
much attached to 
the place, for 
reasons which 
will be readily 
understood by 
everyone. This 

Known as apartment is essentially a summer one, and 

It is now appointed as such, Windows curtained in 

about fifty years since the Queen first visited real lace look out on to tennis lawn and 

l^rvm t£ l*hrrtt 


Original from 



shrubberies ; the ceiling ami walls are 
papered in a pretty, light manner ; 
the floor is covered with Indian mat- 
ting, with here and there Persian ru^s. 

I note one or two very beautiful 
tables with inlaid floral wreaths there- 
on ; an exquisite hand-painted screen, 
evidence of the talent of the young 
members of the family, and also speci- 
mens of their skill in art needlework, 
in the very beautiful antimacassars of 
velvet worked in silk. Standing at 
one side of the room is a glass case 
full of gold and silver curios, a hand- 
some writing-table, evidently used by 
the Duchess, a few landscapes, and 
various articles of vertu — all combine 
to make a very elegant looking apart 

Down a flight of stairs again as 
far as the iron gate from whence I 
started, then still lower, apparently to 
the basement Proceeding along a 
dimly lighted corridor I come to a 
small apartment, in which from time 
immemorial the Princes of the House 
of Coburg have been christened. The 
font used for the ceremonies is shown 
in the centre of the room : it is of 
pure alabaster, very finely carved, The deco- 
rations of the room are purely Gothic, and of 
oak. Rosewood frame cupboards, with green 
sdken fronts, surmounted by painted panels 

-. I IN WHICH I'MCN^Ii albert was chhistened- 
JViqp* a Ptotv. lh tf "Mi Jt Stuart 


interspersed with arched recesses, form part of 

the background of the octagon-shaped room. 

In fne of the recesses is a small statue of 

the late Prince Consort, and an old-fashioned 

bronze chandelier, 
with branches for 
wax candles, de- 
pends from the 
centre of the mhre- 
shaped ceiling, I 
take an opportunity 
of inspecting the 
contents of the 
cupboards j finding 
such highly inter- 
esting - - inasmuch 
as not only is much 
an tique china 
shown, but also 
the small tea 
services, etc., used 
by the Prince and 
his brother at a 
very early age, when 
the size of the cup 
was not an object : 
these are of the lili- 
putian order. 

Then I go to the 
Gothic dining-hall, 





a really magnificent apartment of immense 
proportions, and entirely of marble. The 
ceiling, beautifully ornamented in gold and 
white* is supported by fifteen quadruple 
columns, with caps ornamented to match the 
ceiling. The room is effectively lighted by 
eight hanging candelabra and some immense 
bronze side-lights, supported by figures of 
black slaves. At either end of this huge apart- 
ment are marble and ormolu mantel -pieces, 
and on one side of it are two beautiful lofty 

volubly to me of days that are gone and 
events big with importance. 

Then I step out again on to the lawn, and 
am just in time to witness the arrival of the 
Crown Prince and Princess of Roumania, 
and her sister the Princess Alexandra of 
Saxe-Coburg, who have driven over from 
Coburg. They are presently followed by the 
younger sister. Princess Beatrice, mounted 
on her pony. The opportunity is too good 
to be lost, a request is made to which a 



stands, composed of marble with ormolu 
mounts, containing some fine specimens of old 
china. At the top end, amidst waving palms, 
ferns, and baskets of flowers, stands a cosy 
little tea-table, on it being a silver service 
and other five o'clock tea appointments. Her 
Majesty has just occupied the chair e>n the 
left of the table, and enjoyed her cup of tea 
in her customary manner. The old gentle- 
man in attendance has lived here all his life, 
and his father before him, and he chatters 

smiling assent is given, and before you you 
have the Royal party posed in easy attitudes 
under the trees, together with the pony and 
dogs. This finished, I drive away from 
Rosenau, having most thoroughly enjoyed 
my visit to this historic Schloss* 

The following day I turn my face to 
England, for the festivities ore over ; the 
Queen is going home, and Coburg is 
again settling down to its quiet, everyday 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

AGE 3<+ 
From tht Fainting bit J* B. Kecxe 


Born 1813. 

i|IR ISAAC PITMAN was bom at 
Trowbridge, Wilts, and educated 
at the Grammar School of that 
town. He came to London in 
1831 : he established the British 
School at Wotton-under-Edge in 1836, and 
removed to Bath in 1839. He is the 

Af"*e 55- 
From a rhota. l*vJ. Ptrfctet, Hath. 

inventor of phonography, and his first 
treatise relating to it appeared in 1837, Sir 
Isaac edits and prints the Phonetic Journal, 
which reports the progress of the 4l Writing 
and Spelling Reform/' of which he is the 
originator ; besides this, Sir Isaac has 
issued a little library of about eighty volumes 
printed entirely in shorthand, ranging from 
the Bible to " Rasselas." He was made a 
Knight in May of this year. 

AGK 46* 
From 9 Photo- bf J. Ferkinw, 






AiiF- 4 


Born 1861. 

KOTSADKRS of Thk Strand Maga 
&)$} zixv. will, no doubt, remember the 
j interesting article which appeared 
from the pen of Dr. Nansen in the 
December issue of 1893, and we 
are now happy in being able to give the por- 
traits of the great explorer at different times 

Fmm 1 J 

AGf 12. 

I Hi **t)ffrap.' , 

of his life. Fridtjof Nansen, Ph.D., was born 
near Christiania, and went to the University 
there in iSSo, where he decided upon studying 

zoology. In July, 1882, he returned from his 
first expedition in Iceland and Greenland. 
In 1 888 he took his degree as Doctor of 
Philosophy, and in May of that year started 
on his memorable journey to Greenland, 
which continent he crossed, returning in 

-' " 1 1 1 ! I . I : : 1 . 

May, 1889, He has published " Across 
Greenland " ? — being an account of his last 
expedition. Last summer Dr. Nansen sailed 
in the Fram on an expedition to the North 
Pole, a grant of 200,000 kroner having been 
granted by the Norwegian National Assembly 
for that purpose. 





From a] 

[ I'hcfajrat-fh. 


|ISS ANNIE ALBU has a very 

% sweet voice, and art, coupled with 

1VW3 I experience, has taught her how to 

ffkVftffiv use it proi>erly. Her first appear 

ance on the stage was at Milan, 

as Amino, in u la Somnambula." Since then 

she has delighted the English public by her 

in negotiations for her appearance in 
concerts and oratorios, in which she 
has proved herself very successful 

From a Photo, bif] AGE IJ* [MUtitm. M.mUibw. 

noted appearances as the Messenger of 
Ptact in " Rienzi," as Marguerite in 
"Faust, 11 Ztrlina in u Don ^'j^V^Hlp 
and many others* Miss Albu i* at present 

>. I l ftntUM' 

f'ape Ttn*.n 

}>,»» .t ;-i 

■Original frojn 



The Right Hon. HENRY H. FOWLER, M.P., P.C. 
Born 1830. 






FOWLER was born at Sunderland, and edu- 
cated at Woodhouse Grove School and St 
Saviour's School, South war k. He was Mayor 
of Wolverhampton in 1863, and first chairman 
of the Wolverhampton School Board. From 1880 to 1885 
he sat as a Liberal for the undivided Borough of Wolver- 
hampton, and after the Redistribution Act was returned 
for the East Division. In December, 1884, he was ap- 
pointed Under Secre- 
tary for the Home ]_>e- 

AHE 47, 

ace 25* 
Fr.r.m Pteto, by 17. 1L Doddu Wolpsrh&npto*. 

partment, and in Mr, 
Gladstone's Ministry 
of 1886 he held the 
post of Financial 
Secretary to the 
Treasury. He was 
created also a Privy 
Councillor in June, 
1886. He was Pre- 
sident of the Local 
Government Board 
during Mr* Glad- 
stone's recent Ad- 
ministration, and is 
at the present time 
Secretary of State 
for India, having 
been appointed to 
that post on the 
occasion of Lord Roseberys succession to Mr. Gladstone. 

Ar>F. ss, 
FVtrm a photo hv Mr*- ITttMtfW*, Woltvrhawfittn. 

AGE 35, 
/Prytnff pftofa by ft. W. Thrupp, Birmv 





Born 1844, 
]E have pleasure 
in giving here a 
^ most interesting 
set of portraits 
of the Duke of 
Saxe - Coburg, who was 
born at Windsor Castle on 
the 6th of August, 1S44. 
In \ 86 2 the Throne of 


Greece was o (Tercel to the 
Duke, who declined it, suc- 
ceeding to the Throne of 
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha about 
a year ago. Additional 
interest will be attached 
to this set owing to the 
appearance of the article 
on the Dukes palaces in 

Fl . , ' V K*«H<j»««4 st«n rigintHcfpraent number, 

Martin Hewitt, Investigator. 

By Arthur Morrison. 


T was comparatively rarely that 
Hewitt came into contact 
with members of the regular 
criminal class — those, I mean, 
who are thieves, of one sort or 
another, by exclusive profes- 
Still, nobody could have been 
better prepared than Hewitt for encounter- 
ing this class when it became necessary. 
By some means, which I never quite 
understood, he managed to keep abreast 
of the very latest fashions in the ever- 
changing slang dialect of the fraternity, and 
he was a perfect master of the more modern 
and debased form of Romany, So much so, 
that frequently a gipsy who began (as they 
always do) by pretending that he understood 
nothing, and never heard of a gipsy language, 
ended by confessing that Hewitt could rokker 
better than most Romany chah themselves. 

By this acquaintance with their habits and 
talk, Hewitt was sometimes able to render 
efficient service in cases of especial im- 
portance* In the Quinton jewel affair Hewitt 
came into contact with a very accomplished 

The case will probably be very well re- 
membered. Sir Valentine Quinton, before 
he married, had been as poor ns only a man 
of rank with an old country establishment to 
keep up can be. His marriage, however, 
with the daughter of a wealthy financier had 
changed all that, and now the Quinton 
establishment was carried on on as lavish 
a scale as might be ; and, indeed, the ex- 
travagant habits of \jxAy Quinton herself 
rendered it an extremely lucky thing that she 
had brought a fortune with her. 

Among other things, her jewels made 
quite a collection, and chief among them 
was the great ruby, one of the very few that 
were sent to this country to be sold (at an 
average price of somewhere about ^20,000 
apiece, I believe) by the Burmese King before 
the annexation of his country. I jet but a 
ruby be of a great size and colour, and no 
equally fine diamond can approach its value. 
Well, this great ruby (which was set in a 
pendant, by-the-bye), together with a neck- 
lace, brooches, bracelets, earrings — indeed, 
the greater part of I^idy Quinton's collection 
were stolen. The robbery was effected 
at the usual time and in the usual way in 
cases of carefully planned jewellery robberies. 
The time was early evening — dinner-time, in 
fact — and an entrance had been made by the 

window to I-ady Quinton's dressing-room, 
the door screwed up on the inside, and 
wires artfully stretched about the grounds 
below, to overset anybody who might observe 
and pursue the thieves. 

On an investigation by London detectives, 
however, a feature of singularity was brought 
to light. There had plainly been only one 
thief at work at Radcot Hall, and no other 
had been inside the grounds. Alone he had 
planted the wires, opened the window, 
screwed the door, and picked the lock of the 
safe* Clearly this was a thief of the most 
accomplished description. 

Some few days passed, and although the 
police had made various arrests, they 
appeared to be all mistakes, and the suspected 
persons were released one after another. I 
was talking of the robl>ery with Hewitt at 
lunch, and asked him if he had received any 
commission to hunt for the missi::g jewels, 

"No," Hewitt replied, ** I haven't been 
commissioned. They are offering an immense 
reward, however — a very pleasant sum, 
indeed. I have had a short note from 
Radcot Hall, informing me of the amount, 
and that's :ilL Probably they fancy that I 
may take the case up as a speculation, but 
that is a great mistake. Tin not a beginner, 
and I must be commissioned in a regular 
manner, hit or miss, if I am to deal with the 
case. I've quite enough commissions going 
now, and no time to waste hunting for a 
problematical reward." 

But we were nearer a clue to the Quinton 
jewels than we then supposed. 

We talked of other things, and presently 
rose and left the restaurant, strolling quietly 
towards home. Some little distance from the 
Strand, and near our own door, we passed 
an excited Irishman — without doubt an 
Irishman, by appearance and talk — who 
was pouring a torrent of angry complaints 
in the ears of a policeman- The police- 
man obviously thought little of the man's 
grievances, and with an amused smile appeared 
to be advising him to go home quietly and 
think no more about it. We passed on and 
mounted our stairs. Something interesting 
in our conversation made me stop for a little 
while at Hewitt's office door on my way up, 
and while I stood there, the Irishman we 
had seen in the street mounted the stairs. 
He was a poorly dressed but sturdy-looking 
fellow, apparently a labourer in a badly-worn 
best suit of clothes. Hts agitation still held 




him, and without a pause he immediately 
bum out : — 

11 Which of ye jintlemen will be Misther 
Hewitt, sor ? " ' 

14 This is Mr. Hewitt/' I said. "Do you 
want him ? " 

"It's protecshin I want, sor— protecshin. 

" IT ^ KHIITKC^JflN I WA\r. SltH. ' 

I spake to the polis an' they laff at me, 
begob. Foive days have 1 lived in London, 
an J 'tis nothin' but battle, murdher, an' 
sudd hen death for me here all day an' ivery 
day. . . An* the polis say I'm dhrunk ! " 

He gesticulated wildly, and to me it 
seemed just possible that the police might 
be right 

"They say I'm dhrunk, sor," he continued, 
u but, begob, I b'lieve they think I'm mad. 
An* me being th racked an 1 folleyed an' 
dogged an' waylaid an' poisoned an blan- 
dandhered an' kidnapped an 1 murdhered, an' 
for why I do not know ! " 

4 "And who's doing all this?" 

l * SthrangerSj sor - sth rangers. Tis a 
sth ranger here I am mesilf, an' fwhy they 
do it bates rne } onless I do be so like the 
Prince av Wales or other crowned head they 
thry to slaughter me. They're lay in' for me 
in the sthreet now, I misdoubt not, and 

fwhat they may thry next I can tell no more 
than the Lord Mayor, An' the polis won't 
listen to me," 

This, I thought, must be one of the very 

common cases of mental hallucination which 

one hears of every day — the belief of the 

sufferer that he is surrounded by enemies 

and followed by spies. It 

is probably the most usual 

delusion of the harmless 


" But what have these 
people done ? w Hewitt 
asked, looking rather 
interested, although 
amused. " What actual 
assaults have they com- 
mitted, and when P And 
who told you to % come 

** Who towld me, is ut ? 
Who but the payler outside 
—in the street below ? I 
complained to inn, an 1 sez 
he t ' Ah, you go an' take a 
slape, 1 sez he ; * you go 
an' Like a good slape, an* 
they'll all he gone whin 
ye wake up** * But they'll 
murdher me/ sc/. I. ( Oh, 
no ! ' sez he, smilin' behind 
av his ugly face. * Oh, no, 
hey won't ; you take ut 
aisy, me frind, an f go home.' 
' Take ut aisy, is ut, an' go 
home ! ' sez I ; * why, that's 
just where they've been 
last, a-ruinationm* an 3 a 
turnin 1 av the place upside down, an* me 
strook on the head onsensihle a mile away, 
lake ut aisy, is ut, ye say, whin all the demons 
in this unholy place is jumpin' on me ivery 
minut in places promiscuous till I can't tell 
where to turn ; descendin 5 an' vanishin* mar- 
vellious an* onaceountable ? Take ut aisy, is 
ut ? ' sez I. 4 Well, me frind,' sez he, * I can't 
help ye ; that's the marvellious an' onaccount 
able departmint up the stairs forninst ye. 
Misther Hewitt ut is, 1 sez he, * that attinds 
to the onaccountable departmint, him as 
wint by a minut ago. You go an' bother 
him/ That's how I was towld, sor, s * 
Hewitt smiled. 

* 4 Very good," he said, "and now what are 
these extraordinary troubles of yours ? Don't 
declaim, 7 ' he added, as the Irishman raised 
his hand and opened his mouth preparatory to 
another torrent of com plaint ; " just say in ten 
W -ord^^ W ,^^^ done to you." 



" I will, sor. Wan day had I been in 
London, sor ; wan day only, an' a low scutt 
thried to poison me dhrink ; next day some 
udther thief av sin shoved me off av a 
railway platform undher a train, malicious 
and purposeful ; glory be, he didn't kill me, 
but the very docther that felt me bones 
thried , to pick me pockut, I du b'lieve. 
Sunday night I was grabbed outrageous in 
a darrk turnin', rowled on the groun', half 
strangled, an* me pockets nigh ripped out av 
me trousies. An* this very blessed mornin' 
av light I was strook onsensible an* left a 
livin' corrpse, an* my lodgin's penethrated 
an' all the thruck mishandled an* bruk up 
behind me back. Is that a panjandhery for 
the polis to laff at, sor ? " 

Had Hewitt not been there I think I 
should have done my best to quiet the poor 
fellow with a few soothing words and to 
persuade him to go home to his friends. His 
excited and rather confused manner, his 
fantastic story of a sort of general conspiracy 
to kill him, and the absurd reference to the 
doctor who tried to pick his pocket, seemed 
to me plainly to confirm my first impression 
that he was insane. But Hewitt appeared 
strangely interested. 

44 Did they steal anything ? " he asked. 

44 Divil a shtick but me door-key, an' that 
they tuk home an' lift in the door." 

Hewitt opened his office door. 

44 Come in," he said, 44 and tell me all 
about this. You come too, Brett." 

The Irishman and I followed him into the 
inner office, where, shutting the door, Hewitt 
suddenly turned on the Irishman and ex- 
claimed, sharply : " Then you've still got it?" 

He looked keenly in the man's eyes, but 
the only expression there was one of surprise. 

44 Got ut?" said the Irishman. "Got 
fwhat, sor ? Is ut you're thinkin' I've got the 
horrors, as well as the polis ? " 

Hewitt's gaze relaxed. " Sit down, sit 
down," he said. 44 You've still got your 
watch and money, I suppose, since you 
weren't robbed ? " 

44 Oh, that? Glory be I have ut still, 
though for how long — or me own head for 
that matter — in this state of besiegement, I 
cannot say." 

44 Now," said Hewitt, 44 1 want a full, true, 
and particular account of yourself and your 
doings for the last week. First, your name ? " 

44 Leamy's my name, sor — Michael Leamy." 

44 lately from Ireland ? " 

44 Over from Dublin this last blessed Wed- 
nesday, and a crooil bad poundherin' ut was 
in the boat, too — shpakin' av that same." 

44 Looking for work ? " 

44 That is my purshuit at prisint, sor." 

44 Did anything noticeable happen before 
these troubles of yours began — anything here 
in Ixmdon or on the journey ? " 

44 Sure," the Irishman smiled, " part av the 
way I thravelled first-class by favour av the 
gyard, an' I got a small job before I lift the 

44 How was that ? Why did you travel 
first-class part of the way ? " 

44 There was a station f where we shtopped 
afther a long run, an* I got down to take the 
cramp out av me joints, an' take a taste av 
dhrink. I overshtayed somehow, an' whin I 
got to the train, begob it was on the move. 
There was a first-class carr'ge door opin right 
forninst me, an' into that the gyard crams me 
holus-bolus. There was a juce of a foine 
jintleman stain' there, an' he stares at me 
umbrageous, but I was not dishcommoded, 
bein' onbashful by natur'. We thravelled 
along a heap av miles more, till we came 
near London. Afther we had shtopped at 
a station where they tuk tickets, we wint 
ahead again, an' prisintly, as we rips through 
some udther station, up jumps the jintle- 
man opposite, swearin' hard undher his 
tongue, an' looks out at the windy. 4 I 
thought this train shtopped here,' sez he." 

44 Chalk Farm," observed Hewitt, with a 

44 The name I do not know, sor, but that's 
fwhat he said. Then he looks at me onaisy 
for a little, an' at last he sez, 4 Wud ye loike a 
small job, me good man, well paid ? ' 

444 Faith,' sez I, 4 'tis that will suit me 

44 4 Then, see here,' sez he, i I should have 
g6t out at that station, havin' particular 
business ; havin' missed I must sen' a tele- 
grammer from Euston. Now, here's a bag,' 
sez he, 4 a bag full of imporrtant papers for 
my solicitor — imporrtant to me, ye onder- 
shtand, not worth the shine av a brass farden 
to a sowl else — an' I want 'em tuk on to him. 
Take you this bag,' he sez, 4 an' go you 
straight out wid it at Euston an' get in a cab. 
I shall stay in the station a bit to see to the 
telegrammer. Dhrive out av the station, 
across the road outside, an' wait there five 
minuts by the clock. Ye ondershtand? 
Wait five minuts, an' maybe I'll • come an' 
join ye. If I don't, 'twill be bekaze I'm 
detained onexpected, an' then yell dhrive to 
my solicitor straight. Here's his address, if 
ye can read writin',' an' he put ut on a piece 
av paper. He gave me half a crown for the 

Cab ' irflMW»MICHISAN 




14 One moment -have you the paper with 
the address now ? n 

** I have not, sor. I missed ut afther the 
bl ay guards overset fhe yesterday ; but the 
solicitor's name was Hoi lams,, an' a liberal 
jintleman wid his money he was too, by that 
same token." 

il What was his address ? " 

***Twa$ in Chelsea, and 'twas Ciold or 
Golden something, which I know by the good 
token av fwhat he gave me; but the number 
I misremember." 

Hewitt turned to his directory. " Gold 
Street is the place, probably/' he said, " and 
it seems to be a street chiefly of private 
houses. You would be able to point out the 
house if you were taken there, I suppose ? " 

"I should that, sor — indade, I was thinkin' 
av goin' there an* tellin' Misther Hoi lams all 
my throubles, him bavin' been so kind/' 

** Now tell me exactly what instructions 
the man in the train gave you, and what 

" He sez, 'You ask for Misther Hollams, 
an J see nobody else. Tell him ycVe brought 
the sparks from Misther \W " 

I fancied I could see a sudden twinkle in 
Hewitt's eye, but he made no other sign, 
and the Irishman proceeded. 

" [ Sparks ? * sez L < Yes, 
sparks/ sez he. * Misther Hoi- 
lams will know ; 'tis our jokiti' 
word for 'em ; sometimes papers 
is sparks when they set a lawsuit 
ablaze, 5 and he laffed. ' Jiut be 
sure ye say the sparks from 
Misther W*f he sez again, * bekase 
then he'll know ye're jinuine an 1 
hell pay ye han'some. Say 
Misther W. sez you're to have 
your reg'lars, if ye like. Dye 
mind that ? ' 

41 < Aye/ sez I, 'that Vm to 
have me reg'lars/ 

" Well, sor, I tuk the l>ag and 
wint out of die station, tuk the 
cab an' did all as he towld me. 
I waited the foive rmnuts, but 
he niver came, so off I druv f to 
Misther Hollams, and he threated 
me ha n 'some, sor." 

" Yes, but tell me exactly all 
he did." 

u s Misther Hollams, sor?' sez 
I. * Who are ye ? ' sez he. * Mick 
Lea my, sor/ sez I, 'from Misther 
W, wid the sparks.' ' Oh/ sez 
he, * thin come in/ I wint in. 
* They 're in here, are they?' sez 
he, takin' the bag. 'They are, sor/ sez I, 
*an' Misther \\\ sez fm to have me reg'lars.* 
1 You shall/ sez hc\ * What shall we say now 
— a fin nip ? ■ ' 1 ; what's that, sor ? ' sez L i Oh/ 
sez he, ' I s'pose ye T re a new hand ; five quid 
— ondershtand that?'" 

" Begob, I did ondershtand it, an 1 moighty 
plazcd I was to have come to a place where 
they pay five-pun' notes for carry in 1 bags. 
So whin he asked me was I new to London 
an* shud I kape in the same line av business, 
I towld him I shud for cert in, or any thin 1 else 
payin' like it i Right/ sez he, * let me 
know whin ye've gut any thin' — ye'll find me 
all right. 1 An' he winked frindly. * Faith, that 
I know I shall, sor/ sez I, wid the money safe 
in me pocket ; an' I winked him back, con- 
janiaL Tve a smart family about me/ sez 
he, 'an' I treat *em all fair an' liberal/ An* 
saints, I thought it likely his family ud have 
all they wanted, stein' he was so free-hand ed 
wid a stranger. Thin he asked me where I 
was livin' in London, and when 1 towld 
him nowhere, he towld me av a room in 
Musson Street, here by Urury I^ane, that w + as 
to let, in a house his fanvly knew very well, 
an* I wint straight there an 5 tuk ut, an* there 
I do be stayin' still, sor," 

1 WEiff»&a wh ' Hewitt 

6 4 


took so much interest in the Irishman's 
narrative, but the latter part of it opened my 
eyes a little. It seemed likely that Leamy 
had, in his innocence, been made a conveyer 
of stolen property. I knew enough of 
thieves' slang to know that "sparks" meant 
diamonds or other jewels ; that " regulars B 
was the term used for a payment made to a 
brother thief who gave assistance in some 
small way, such as carrying the booty ; and 
that the "family" was the time-honoured 
expression for a gang of thieves. 

"This was [ill nn Wednesday, I und£r 
stand," said Hewitt " Now tell me what 
happened on Thursday —the poisoning* or 
drugging, you know } n 

** Well, sor, I was walking out, an' towards 
the even in' I lost mesilf, Up comes a man t 
seemin'ly a sthranger, and sh macks me on 
the showldher. 'Why, Mick 3 ' sez he, 'it's 
Mick Leamy, I riu b'lieve T 

" ' 1 am that/sez I, ' but you I do not know/ 

" ' Not know me ? ' sez he* e Whv, I wint to 
school wid ye. 3 An' wid that he hauls me 
off to a bar, blarneyin' and minowdherin', 
an* orders d brinks* 

44 i Can ye rache me a poipe-loight ? 7 sez 
he T an' I turned to get ut, but lookin' back 
suddent, there was that onblushin' thief 
av the warl' tippin 3 a paper full av 
powdher stuff into me glass.' 1 



" What did you do ? " Hewitt asked. 
" I knocked the dhirty face av him, sor, 
an* can ye blame me? A mane scutt, thryiiV 
for to poison a well-maniiV sthranger. I 
knocked the face av him, an J got away home." 
" Now the next misfortune ? " 
" Faith, that was av a sort likely to 
turn out the last av all misfortunes. I 
wint that day to the Crystial Palace, bein' 
dish posed for a little shport, seein' as I 
was new to London. Com in' home at 
night, there was a juce av a crowd on 
the station platform, consekins av a late 
thrain. Shtandin' by the edge av the plat- 
form at the fore end, just as the thrain came 
in, some onvisible murdherer gives me a 
stupenjus dhrive in the back, an' over I wint 
on the line, mid-betwixt the rails. The 
engine came up an* wint half over me widout 
giviiV me a scratch, bekase av my centraleous 
situation, an' then the iKirther-men pulled me 
out, nigh sick wid fright, sor, as ye may 
guess. A jintleman in the crowd sings 
out, ' I'm a medical man ! ' an 1 they tuk me 
in the waitin'-room, an' he investigated me, 
bavin' turned everybody else out av the room. 
There was no bones bruk, glory be, and the 
docthor-man he was tellin' me so, after feelin' 
me over, whin I felt his hand in me waist- 
coat pockut 

M 'An 1 fwhafs this, sor?* sez L * Do you 
be lookin 1 for your fee that 
thiers way ? T 

" He laffed, and said, ' I 
want no fee from ye, me man, 
an* I did but feel your ribs' 
— though on me conscience he 
had done that undher me waist- 
coat already. An' so I came 

"What did they do to you 
on Saturday ? " 

"Saturday, sor, they gave 
me a whole holiday, and I 
began to think less av things ; 
but on Sunday night, in a dark 
place, two blayguards tuk me 
throat from behind, nigh 
choked me, flung me down, 
an* wint through all me pocket- 
in about a quarter av a minut.' 
** And they took nothing, 
you say ? " 

u Nothing, sor. Hut this 
momtn' I got my worst dose. 
I was trapesing along distresh- 
ful an' moighty sore, in a street 
just away off the Strand here, 

UNIVERSlwMfcfi) the docthor - 



man that was at the Crystial Palace station 
a-smilin* an T beckoniiV at me from a door. 

kt 'How are ye now?' sez he. * Well/ 
sez I, Tm moighty sore an' sad bruised/ 
$ez L 'Is that so?' sez he. ( Shtep in 
here.' So I shtepped in T an' before I could 
wink there dhropped a crack on the back av 
me head that sent me off asunknowledgeable 
as a corrpse. I knew no more for a while, 
sor, whether half an hour or an hour, an thin 
I got up in a room av the place marked * To 
I^et 1 'Twas a house full av offices by the 
same token, like this. There was a sore bad 
lump on me head — see ut, sor ? — an* the whole 
warl J was shpinnin' roim* rampageous. The 
things out av me pockets were lyin' on the 
flure by me — all barrin' the key av me room. 
So that the demons had been through me 
posseshins again, bad luck to 'em." 

" You are quite sure, are you, that everything 
was there, except the key ? " Hewitt asked. 

" Certin, sor. Well, I got along to me 
room, sick an' sorry enough, an ? doubtsome 
whether I might get in wid no key. But 
there was the key in the open door, an' by 
this an' that, all the shtuff in the room— chair, 
table, bed an 1 all— was shtandin' on their 
heads twisty-ways, an' the bed-clothes an 1 
everythin 1 else; such a disgraceful stramash 
av conglomerated thruck as ye niver 
dhreamt a v. The chist av drawers was 
lyin' on uts face, 
wid all the dhrawers 
out an' emptied on 
the flure* Twas as 
though an arrmy had 
been lootin', sor ! n 

u But still nothing 
was gone?'' 

u Nothin' so far as 
I investigated, sor, 
But I didn't shtay— I 
came out to spake to 
the polls, an* two av 
them laflfed at me— 
wan afther another ! * 

"It has certainly 
been no laughing 
matter fur you. Now, 
tell me, have you any- 
thing in your posses- 
sion — documents, or 
valuables, or any 
thing — that any other 
person, to your know- 
ledge, is anxious to 
get hold of? " 

** I have not, sor 
— divil a document. 

V^. V LU —9, 

As to valuables— thim an' me is the cowldest 
av sthrangers," 

"Just call to mind, now, the face of the 
man who tried to put powder in your drink 
and that of the doctor who attended to you 
in the railway station. Were they at all alike, 
or was either like anybody you have seen 

I^amy puckered his forehead and thought. 
" Faith," he said, presently, il they were a bit 
alike, though wan had a beard an" the udther 
whiskers only." 

" Neither happened to look like Mr. 
Holhms, for instance ?" 

I^amy started* " Begob, but they did ! 
They'd ha' been mortal like him if they'd 
been shaved." Then, after a pause, he 
suddenly added; "Holy saints' is ut the 
fam'ly he talked av?" 

Hewitt laughed. " Perhaps it is,'* he said, 
"Now, as to the man who sent you with the 
bag. Was it an old bag ? M 
" Bran* crackliiv new — a brown leather bag." 

14 Locked? 1 ' 

" That I niver thried, sor. It was not my 

" True. Now, as to this Mr. W. himself "— 
Hewitt had been rummaging for some few 
minutes in a portfolio, and finally produced 
a photograph, and held it before the Irish- 
man's eyes — u Is that like him ? " he asked. 

by Google 




"Shure, it's the man himself! Is he a 
frind av yours, sor ? " 

" No, he's not exactly a friend of mine," 
Hewitt answered, with a grim chuckle. " I 
fancy he's one of that very respectable family 
you heard about at Mr. Hollams's. Come 
along with me now, to Chelsea, and see if 
you can point out that house in Gold Street. 
I'll send for a cab." 

He made for the outer office, and I went 
with him. 

" What is all this, Hewitt ? " I asked ; " a 
gang of thieves with stolen property ? " 

Hewitt looked in my face and replied : 
" It's the Quinton ruby ! " 

" What ? The ruby ? Shall you take the 
case up, then ? " 

" I shall. It is no longer a speculation." 

"Then do you expect to find it at 
Hollams's house in Chelsea ? " I asked. 

" No, I don't, because it isn't there — else 
why are they trying to get it from this 
unlucky Irishman ? There has been bad 
faith in Hollams's gang, I expect, and 
Hollams has missed the ruby and suspects 
Leamy of having taken it from the bag." 

" Then who is this Mr. W. whose portrait 
you have in your possession ? " 

" See here." Hewitt turned over a small 
pile of recent newspapers and selected one, 
pointing at a particular paragraph. " I kept 
that in my mind, because to me it seemed to 
be the most likely arrest of the lot," he said. 

It was an evening paper of the previous 
Thursday, and the paragraph was a very 
short one, thus : — 

" The man Wilks, who was arrested at 
Euston Station yesterday, in connection with 
the robbery of I^ady Quinton's jewels, has 
been released, nothing being found to in- 
criminate him." 

11 How does that strike you ? " asked 
Hewitt. " Wilks is a man well known to the 
police— one of the most accomplished bur- 
glars in this country, in fact. I have had no 
dealings with him as yet, but I found means, 
some time ago, to add his portrait to my 
little collection, in case I might want it, and 
to-day it has been quite useful" 

The thing was plain now. Wilks must 
have been bringing his booty to town, and 
calculated on getting out at Chalk Farm, and 
thus eluding the watch which he doubtless 
felt pretty sure would be kept (by telegraphic 
instruction) at Euston, for suspicious charac- 
ters arriving from the direction of Radcot. 
His transaction with Leamy was his only 
possible expedient to save himself from being 
hopelessly taken with the swag in his pos- 

session. The paragraph told me why Leamy 
had waited in vain for " Mr. W." in the cab. 

" What shall you do now ? " I asked. 

" I shall go to the Gold Street house and 
find out what I can, as soon as this cab 
turns up." 

There seemed a possibility of some ex- 
citement in the adventure, so I asked, " Will 
you want any help ? " 

Hewitt smiled. " I think I can get 
through it alone," he said. 

" Then may I come to look on ? " I said. 
" Of course, I don't want to be in your way, 
and the result of the business, whatever it is, 
will be to your credit alone. But I am 

" Come, then, by all means. The cab will 
be a four-wheeler, and there will be plenty of 

Gold Street was a short street of private 
houses of very fair size, and of a half-vanished 
pretension to gentility. We drove slowly 
through, and Leamy had no difficulty in 
pointing out the house wherein he had been 
paid five pounds for carrying a bag. At the 
end the cab turned the corner and stopped, 
while Hewitt wrote a short note to an official 
of Scotland Yard. 

"Take this note," he instructed Leamy, 
" to Scotland Yard in the cab, and then go 
home. I will pay the cabman now." 

" I will, sor. An' will I be protected ? " 

" Oh, yes. Stay at home for the rest of 
the day, and I expect you'll be left alone in 
future. Perhaps I shall have something to 
tell you in a day or two ; if I do, I'll send. 

The cab rolled off, and Hewitt and I 
strolled back along Gold Street. " I think," 
Hewitt said, " we will drop in on Mr. 
Hollams for a few minutes while we can. In 
a few hours I expect the police will have him, 
and his house, too, if they attend promptly 
to my note." 

" Have you ever seen him ? " 

"Not to my knowledge, though I may 
know him by some other name. Wilks I 
know by sight, though he doesn't know me." 

" What shall we say ? " 

"That will depend on circumstances. I 
may not get my cue till the door opens, or 
even till later. At worst, I can easily apply 
for a reference as to Leamy — who, you 
remember, is looking for work." 

But we were destined not to make Mr. 
Hollams's acquaintance, after all. As we 
approached the house, a great uproar was 
heard from the Lower part giving on to the 




area, and suddenly a man, hatless, and with 
a sleeve of his coat nearly torn away, burst 
through the door, and up the area steps, 
pursued by two others. I had barely time to 
observe that one of the pursuers carried a 
revolver j and that both hesitated and retired 
on seeing that several people were about the 
street, when Hewitt, gripping my arm and 
exclaiming, " That's our man ! 7) started at a 
run after the fugitive. 

We turned the next corner and saw the 
man thirty yards before us, walking, and 
pulling up his sleeve at the shoulder, so as to 
conceal the rent Plainly he felt safe from 
further molestation. 

"That's Sim Wilks," Hewitt explained, as 
we followed, ** the * juce av a foine jintleman * 
who got I^eamy to carry his bag, and the man 
who knows where the Quint on ruby is, unless 
I am more than usually mistaken, Don't 
stare after him> in case he looks round. 
Presently, when we get into the busier 
streets, I shall have a little chat with him." 

But for some time the man kept to the 
back streets. In time, however, he emerged 
into the Buckingham Palace Road, and we 
saw him stop and look at a hat-shop. I Jut 
after a general look over the window and a 
glance in at the door, he went on. 

"Good sign," observed Hewitt; "got no 
money with him — makes it easier for us ." 

In a little while Wilks approached 
a small crowd gathered about a 
woman fiddler. Hewitt touched my 
arm, and a few quick steps took us 
past our man and to the opposite side 
of the crowd. When Wilks emerged 
he met us coming in the opposite 

" What, Sim ! "• burst out Hewitt, 
with apparent delight, ** I haven't 
piped your mug* for a stretch t ; I 
thought you'd fell J Where's your 

cady? M |l 

Wilks looked astonished and sus- 
picious. iK I don't know you/' he 
said. " You've made a mistake/ 1 

Hewitt laughed. " I'm glad you 
don't know me/* he said, " If you 
don't, I'm pretty sure the reelersg 
I think I've faked my mug 
well, and my clobber, ^1 too. 
here : I'll stand you a new 
Strange blokes don't do that, 

won t. 




eh? 15 

Wilks was still suspicious, 
don t know what you mean/' he 

screwed his face 

" he said sl I've 

I'm Mr Smith till 

You come and 

Then, after a pause, he added, 4i Who are 
you, then ? ?J 

Hewitt winked and 
genially aside, ** Hooky 
had a lucky touch* and 
I've melted the pieces. t 
damp it." 

"I'm off/' Wilks replied. u Unless you're 
pal enough to lend me a quid/ 1 he added, 

u I am that/' responded Hewitt, plunging 
his hand in his pocket. " I'm flush, my boy, 
flush, and I've been wetting it pretty w r ell 
to-day. I feel pretty jolly now, and I 
shouldn't wonder if I went home cannon. J 
Only a quid ? Have two, if you want 'em — 
or three— there's plenty more, and you'll do 
the same for me some day. Here y'are/' 

Hewitt had, of a sudden, assumed the 
whole appearance, manners, and bearing of a 
slightly elevated rowdy* Now he pulled his 
hand from his pocket and extended it, full of 
silver, with five or six sovereigns interspersed, 
toward Wilks, 

"I'll have three quid/' Wilks said, with 
decision, taking the money ; "but I'm blowed 
if I remember you. Who's your pal ? " 

Hewitt jerked his head in my direction, 
winked, and said in a low voice, " He's all 

* Robbery, t Spent the money, * Drunk. 



Seen your face. 


t Pofce. 1 

Been imprisoned. 


. Original from 



right. Having a rest. Can't stand Man- 
chester," and winked again. 

Wilks laughed and nodded, and I under- 
stood from that that Hewitt had very flatter- 
ingly given me credit for being il wanted " by 
the Manchester police. 

We lurched into a public-house, and drank 
a very little very bad whisky and water. 
Wilks still regarded us curiously, and I could 
see him again and again glancing doubtfully 
in Hewitt's face. But the loan of three 
pounds had largely reassured him. Presently 
Hewitt said : — 

u How about our old pal down in Gold 
Street ? Do anything with him now ? Seen 
him lately ? " 

Wilks looked up at the ceiling and shook 
his head. 

" That's a good job. It 'ud be awkward 
if you were about there to-day, I can tell 


" Never mind, so long as you're not there. 
I know something, if I have been away. I'm 
glad I haven't had any truck with Gold Street 
lately, that's all." 

" D'you mean the reelers are on it ? " 

Hewitt looked cautiously over his shoulder, 
leaned toward Wilks, and said, " Look here, 
this is the straight tip. I know this — I got 
it from the very nark* that's given the show 
away. By six o'clock No. 8, Gold Street, 
will be turned inside out, like an old glovp, 

and everyone in the place will be " He 

finished the sentence by crossing his wrists 
like a handcuffed man. " What's more," he 
went on, " they know all about what's gone 
on there lately, and everybody that's been in 
or out for the last two moonst will be wanted 
particular — and will be found, I'jn told." 
Hewitt concluded with a confidential frown, 
a nod, and a wink, and took another mouthful 
of whisky. Then he added, as an after- 
thought: "So I'm glad you haven't been 
there lately." 

Wilks looked in Hewitt's face and asked : 
" Is that straight ? " 

"Is it?" replied Hewitt, with emphasis. 
" You go and have a look, if you ain't afraid 
of being smugged yourself. Only / shan't 
go near No. 8 just yet — I know that." 

Wilks fidgeted, finished his drink, and 
expressed his intention of going. " Very 

well, if you won't have another " replied 

Hewitt. But he had gone. 

" Good," said Hewitt, moving towards the 
door, " he has suddenly developed a hurry. 
I shall keep him in sight, but you had better 

Police spy. 

f Months, 


take a cab and go straight to Euston. Take 
tickets to the nearest station to Radcot — 
Kedderby, I think it is — and look up the 
train arrangements. Don't show yourself too 
much, and keep an eye on the entrance. 
Unless I am mistaken, Wilks will be there 
pretty soon, and I shall be on his heels. If 
I am wrong, then you won't see the end of 
the fun, that's all." 

Hewitt hurried after Wilks, and I took the 
cab and did as he wished. There was an 
hour and a few minutes, I found, to wait for 
the next train, and that time I occupied as 
best I might, keeping a sharp look-out across 
the quadrangle. Barely five minutes before 
the train was to leave, and just as I was 
beginning to think about the time of the 
next, a cab dashed up and Hewitt alighted. 
He hurried in, found me, and drew me aside 
into a recess, just as another cab arrived. 

" Here he is," Hewitt said. " I followed 
him as far as Euston Road and then got my 
cabby to spurt up and pass him. He has 
had his moustache shaved off, and I feared 
you mightn't recognise him, and so let him see 

From our retreat we could see Wilks hurry 
into the booking-office. We watched him 
through to the platform and followed. He 
wasted no time, but made the best of his way 
to a third-class carriage at the extreme fore- 
end of the train. 

,- "We have three minutes," Hewitt said, 
" and everything depends on his not seeing 
us get into this train. Take this cap. 
Fortunately, we're both in tweed suits." 

He had bought a couple of tweed cricket 
caps, and these we assumed, sending our 
" bowler" hats to the cloak-room. Hewitt 
alstf put on a pair of blue spectacles, and 
then walked boldly up the platform and 
entered a first-class carriage. I followed 
close on his heels, in such a manner that a 
person looking from the fore-end of the train 
would be able to see but very little of me. 

" So far, so good," said Hewitt, when we 
were seated and the train began to move off. 
11 1 must keep a look-out at each station, in 
case our friend goes off unexpectedly." 

" I waited some time," I said ; " where 
did you both get to ? " 

44 First he went and bought that hat he is 
wearing. Then he walked some distance, 
dodging the main thoroughfares and keeping 
to the back streets in a way that made 
following difficult, till he came to a little 
tailor's shop. There he entered and came 
out m a quarter of an hour with his coat 
mended, This wus in a street in Westminster. 



Presently he worked his way up to Tothill 
Street, and there he plunged into a barber's 
shop. I took a cautious peep at the window, 
saw two or three other customers also waiting, 
and took the opportunity to tush over to a 
4 notion * shop and buy these blue spectacles, 
and to a hatter's for these caps — of 
which I regret to observe that yours is too 
big. He was rather a long while in the bar- 
ber's, and finally came out as you saw him, 
with no moustache- This was a good indica- 
tion. It made it plainer than ever that he 
had believed my warning as to the police 
descent on the house in Gold Street and its 
frequenters; which was right and proper, for 
what I told him was quite true. The rest 
you know. He cabbed to the station, and so 
did I. w 

"And now, perhaps," I said, " after giving 
me the character of a thief wanted by the 
Manchester police, forcibly depriving me of 
my hat in exchange for this all-too-large cap, 
and rushing me off out of London without 
any definite idea of when I'm coming back, 
perhaps you'll tell me what we're after ? " 

Hewitt laughed. " You wanted to join in, 
you know," he said, u and you must take 
your luck as it comes. As a matter of fact, 
there is scarcely anything in my profession 
so uninteresting and so difficult as this 
watching and following business, Often it 
lasts for weeks. When we alight 
shall have to follow Wilks again, 
under the most difficult possible ^m 
conditions — in the country. There 
it is often quite impossible to follow 
a man unobserved. It is only 
because it is the only way that I 
am undertaking it now. As to 
what we're after— you know that 
as well as I ; the Quinton ruby. 
Wilks has hidden it, and without 
his help it would be impossible to 
find it. We are following him so 
that he will find it for us.'* 

" He must have hidden it, I 
suppose, to avoid sharing with 
Hollams ?" 

"Of course, and availed himself 
of the fact of I^eamy having carried 
the bag to direct Hollands's sus- 
picion to him. Hollams found out, 
by his repeated searches of Leamy 
and his lodgings, that this was 
wrong, and this morning evidently 
tried to persuade the ruby out of 
Wilks's possession with a revolver 
We saw the upshot of that/' 

Kedderby Station was about forty 

miles ouL At each intermediate stopping 
station Hewitt watched earnestly, but 
Wilks remained in the train- u What I fear," 
Hewitt observed, "is that at Kedderby he 
may take a fly. To stalk a man on foot in 
the country is difficult enough j but you cant 
follow one vehicle in another without being 
spotted. But if he's so smart as I think, he 
won't do it. A man travelling in a fly is 
noticed and remembered in these places." 

He did not take a fly. At Kedderby we 
saw him jump out quickly and hasten from 
the station. The train stood for a few 
minutes, and he was out of the station before 
we alighted. Through the railings behind 
the platform we could see him walking 
briskly away to the right. From the ticket 
collector we ascertained that Radcot lay in 
that direction, three miles off. 

To my dying day I shall never forget that 
three miles. They seemed three hundred. 
In the still country, almost ever)' footfall 
seemed audible for any distance, and in the 
long stretches of road one could see half a 
mile behind or before. Hewitt was cool and 
patient, but I got into a fever of worry, 
want of 
breath, and 
back - ache. 
At first, for 
a little, the 




road zig-zagged, and then the chase was 
comparatively easy. We waited behind 
one bend till Wilks had passed the next, 
and then hurried in his trail, treading in 
the dustiest parts of the road or on the 
side grass, when there was any, to deaden the 
sound of our steps. At the last of these 
short bends we looked ahead and saw a long 
white stretch of road with the dark form of 
Wilks a couple of hundred yards in front. 
It would never do to let him get 
to the end of this great stretch before 
following, as he might turn off at some 
branch road out of sight and be lost. So we 
jumped the hedge and scuttled along as we 
best might on the other side, with backs 
bent, and our feet often many inches deep 
in wet clay. We had to make continual 
stoppages to listen and peep out, and 
on one occasion, happening, incautiously, 
to stand erect, looking after him, I was 
much startled to see Wilks with his face 
toward me, gazing down the road. I ducked 
like lightning, and, fortunately, he seemed 
not to have observed me, but went on as 
before. He had probably heard some 
slight noise, but looked straight along the 
road for its explanation, instead of over the 
hedge. At hilly parts of the road there was ex- 
treme difficulty; indeed, on approaching a 
rise it was usually necessary to lie down 
under the hedge till Wilks had passed the 
top, since from the higher ground he could 
have seen us easily. This improved neither 
my clothes, my comfort, nor my temper. 
Luckily we never encountered the difficulty 
of a long and high wall, but once we were 
nearly betrayed by a man who shouted to 
order us off his field. 

At last we saw, just ahead, the square 
tower of an old church, set about with thick 
trees. Opposite this Wilks paused, looked 
irresolutely up and down the road, and then 
went on. We crossed the road, availed our- 
selves of the opposite hedge, and followed. 
The village was to be seen some three or 
four hundred yards farther along the road, 
and toward it Wilks sauntered slowly. Before 
he actually reached the houses, he stopped 
and turned back. 

44 The churchyard!" exclaimed Hewitt, 
under his breath. " Lie close and let him pass." 

Wilks reached the churchyard gate, and 
again looked irresolutely about him. At that 
moment a party of children, who had been 
playing among the graves, came chattering 
and laughing toward and out of the gate, and 
Wilks walked hastily away again, this time in 
the opposite direction, 

" That's the place, clearly," Hewitt said. 
" We must slip across quietly, as soon as he's 
far enough down the road. . . . Now ! " 

We hurried stealthily across, through the 
gate, and into the churchyard, where Hewitt 
threw his blue spectacles away. It was now 
nearly eight in the evening, and the sun was 
setting. Once again \Y r ilks approached the 
gate, and did not enter, because a labourer 
passed at the time. Then he came back and 
slipped through. 

The grass about the graves was long, and 
under the trees it was already twilight. 
Hewitt and I, two or three yards apart, to 
avoid falling over one another in case of 
sudden movement, watched from behind 
gravestones. The form of Wilks stood out 
large and black against the fading light in 
the west, as he stealthily approached through 
the long grass. A light cart came clattering 
along the road, and Wilks dropped at once 
and crouched on his knees till it had passed. 
Then, staring warily about him, he made 
straight for the stone behind which Hewitt 

I saw Hewitt's dark form swing noiselessly 
round to the other side of the stone. Wilks 
passed on and dropped on his knee beside 
a large, weather-worn slab that rested on a 
brick understructure a foot or so high. The 
long grass largely hid the bricks, and among 
it Wilks plunged his hand, feeling along the 
brick surface. Presently he drew out a loose 
brick, and laid it on the slab. He felt again 
in the place and brought forth a small 
dark object. I saw Hewitt rise erect in the 
gathering dusk, and with extended arm step 
noiselessly toward the stooping man. Wilks 
made a motion to place the dark object in 
his pocket, but checked himself, and opened 
what appeared to be a lid, as though to 
make sure of the safety of the contents. 
The last light, straggling under the trees, fell 
on a brilliantly sparkling object within, and 
like a flash Hewitt's hand shot over Wilks's 
shoulder and snatched the jewel. 

The man actually screamed — one of those 
curious sharp little screams that one may 
hear from a woman very suddenly alarmed. 
But he sprang at Hewitt like a cat, only to 
meet a straight drive of the fist that stretched 
him on his back across the slab. I sprang 
from behind my stone, and helped Hewitt to 
secure his wrists with a pocket-handkerchief. 
Then we marched him, struggling and 
swearing, to the village. 

When, in the lights of the village, he 
recognised us, he had a perfect fit of rage, 
but afterwards hs calmed 4own. and admitted 

um ' 



that it was a "very clean cop." There was Hollams is such a greedy pig. Once he's 
some difficulty in finding the village constable, got you under his thumb he don't give you 
and Sir Valentine Quinton was dining out half your makings, and if you kick, hell have 
and did not ar- 
rive for at least 
an hour. In the 
interval Wilks 
grew communi- 

"How much 

d'ye think I 11 

get ? " he asked. 

" Can't guess," 


Hewitt replied. " And as we shall probably 
have to give evidence, you'll he giving 
yourself away if you talk too much." 

" Oh, 1 don't care— that'll make no differ- 
ence. Its a fair cop, and I'm in for it You 
got at rne nicely, lending me three quid. I 
never knew a reeler do that before* That 
blinded me. But was it kid about Gold 
Street ? " 

"No, it wasn't. Mr. Hollams is safely 
shut up by this time, I expect, and you are 
avenged for your little trouble with him this 

** What did you know* about that ? . . . . 
Well, you've got it up nicely for me, I must 
say, S'pose you've been following me all the 

"Well, yes — I haven't been far off, I 
guessed you'd want to clear out of town if 
Hollams was taken, and I knew this " — Hewitt 
tapped his breast pocket-- 4 * was what you'd 
take care to get hold of first. You hid it, of 
course, because you knew that Hollams 
would probably have you searched for it if 
he got suspicious ? " 

" Yes, he did, too. Two blokes went over 
my pockets one night, and somebody got 
into rnv room. But I expected thflt;. 

you smugged. So that I wasn't going to 
give him that if I could help it. I s'pose it 
ain't any good asking how you got put on to 
our mob? ? ' 

"No," said Hewitt, "it isn't" 

We didn't get back till the next day, 
staying for the night, despite an inconvenient 
want of requisites, at the Hall There were, 
in fact, no late trains. We told Sir Valentine 
the story of the Irishman, much to his 

11 Leamy 'stale sounded unlikely, of course/' 
Hewitt said, "but it was noticeable that 
every one of his misfortunes pointed in the 
same direction — that certain persons were 
tremendously anxious to get at something 
they supposed he had. When he spoke of 
his adventure with the bag, I at once remem- 
bered Wilks's arrest and subsequent release. 
It was a curious coincidence, to say the least, 
that this should happen at the very station to 
which the proceeds of this robbery must 
come, if they came to London at all, and on 
the day following the robbery itself. Ked- 
derby is one of the few stations on this 
line where no trains would stop after the 
time of the robbery, so that the thief would 




have to wait till the next day to get back. 
Leamy's recognition of Wilks's portrait 
made me feel pretty certain. Plainly, he 
had carried stolen property; the poor in- 
nocent fellow's conversation with Hollams 
showed that, as in fact did the sum, five 
pounds, paid to him by way of 'regulars' 
or customary toll from the plunder for 
services of carriage. Hollams obviously 
took Leamy for a criminal friend of Wilks's, 
because of his use of the thieves' expressions 
'sparks' and 'regulars,' and suggested, in 
terms which Leamy misunderstood, that he 
should sell any plunder he might obtain to 
himself, Hollams. Altogether it would have 
been very curious if the plunder were not 
that from Radcot Hall, especially as no 
other robbery had been reported at the time. 
" Now, among the jewels taken only one 
was of a very pre-eminent value— the famous 
ruby. It was scarcely likely that Hollams 
would go to so much trouble and risk, 
attempting to drug, injuring, waylaying, and 
burgling the rooms of the unfortunate 
Leamy, for a jewel of small value — for any 
jewel, in fact, but the ruby. So that I felt a 
pretty strong presumption, at all events, that 
it was the ruby Hollams was after. Leamy 
had not had it, I was convinced, from 
his tale and his manner, and from what 
I judged of the man himself. The 
only other person was Wilks, and cer- 
tainly he had a temptation to keep this 
to himself, and avoid, if possible, sharing 
with his London director, or principal ; while 
the carriage of the bag by the Irishman gave 
him a capital opportunity to put suspicion 
on him, with the results seen. The most 
daring of Hollams's attacks on Leamy was 
doubtless the attempted maiming or killing 
at the railway station, so as to be able, in the 
character of a medical man, to search his 
pockets. He was probably desperate at the 

time, having, I have no doubt, been following 
Leamy about all day at the Crystal Palace 
without finding an opportunity to get at his 

"The struggle and flight of Wilks from 
Hollams's confirmed my previous impressions. 
Hollams, finally satisfied that very morning 
that Leamy certainly had not the jewel, either 
on his person or at his lodging, and knowing, 
from having so closely watched him, that he 
had been nowhere where it could be dis- 
posed of, concluded that Wilks was cheating 
him, and attempted to extort the ruby from 
him by the aid of another ruffian and a pistol. 
The rest of my way was plain. Wilks, I 
knew, would seize the opportunity of 
Hollams's being safely locked up to get at and 
dispose of the ruby. I supplied him with 
funds and left him to lead us to his hiding- 
place. He did it, and I think that's all." 

" He must have walked straight away from 
my house to the churchyard," Sir Valentine 
remarked, " to hide that pendant. That was 
fairly cool." 

" Only a cool hand could carry out such a 
robbery single-handed," Hewitt answered. 
" I expect his tools were in the bag that 
I^amy carried, as well as the jewels. They 
must have been a small and neat set." 

They were. We ascertained on our return 
to town the next day that the bag, with all 
its contents intact, including the tools, had 
been taken by the police at their surprise 
visit to No. 8, Gold Street, as well as much 
other stolen property. Hollams and Wilks 
each got very wholesome doses of penal 
servitude, to the intense delight of Mick 
Leamy. Leamy himself, by-the-bye, is still 
to be seen, clad in a noble uniform, guarding 
the door of a well-known London restaurant. 
He has not had any more five-pound notes 
for carrying bags, but knows London too 
well now to expect it. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Handwriting of Mr. Gladstone. 

From March, 1822, to March, 1894. 

(Born 29th December, 1809.) 

By J. Holt Schooling. 

]NE day while I was collecting 
the materials for this article, 
an observant man said to me : 
" There's not much character 
about Gladstone's writing. His 
signature is very common- 
place," * The speaker had not made any 
special study of the form of gesture which 
handwriting gives to us. 

Is this series of human actions — traced by 
perhaps the most notable man of this century 
— lacking in characteristic traits, and are 
those signatures at which we will look com- 
monplace ? Perhaps yes — perhaps no. Let 
us examine them and try to answer the 

The great man who has been great among 
great men for nigh on fifty years, and who 

1. . . ■ 

l&i& .-«. 


MO. I. — WRITTEN IN MARCH, 1022. AGE 12. 

fLtni by Mr. QladiUm*.) 
QtodMon* mL ; the notat about the ** Wandering! of Mn*** w were 
written during W2a-1887. From the flj-leai ofthe •» Virgil ** used bj 
Mr. Gladstone when at Eton. 
Vol viii.— ia 


PUBLII jj l£n 1 








TOt. U 






NO. 2.— WRITTEN IN 1 822. AGE 12. 

fLent to Mr. Gladstone/ 
Giad$tone, Eton, £«<*#, a.v. I8tt. The title-page of the ' 

VirgiL v 

has been specially exposed to the peculiar for- 
and-against bias that stamps and invalidates 
political opinions of all shades, will not be 
studied here as the Right Honourable 
W. E. Gladstone, the politician, orator, and 
demagogue — but as plain William Ewart 
Gladstone, the man. It will indeed be 
strange if he whose facial movements, eyes, 
voice, walk, and general bodily gestures go 
some long way to show his individuality, 
should fail to show us something of himself 
in the recorded gestures traced by his hand 
when acting under the direct control of 
certain nerve-centres of his brain. 

Look at every specimen of Mr. Gladstone's 
writing which h oil these pages — in no one 




of them will you see any embellishment of the 
signature, nor any complicated movements. 
Is this feature commonplace ? I venture to 
say it is not : on the contrary, such simplifica- 
tion of handwriting is a most rare trait, but 
it may be seen in the writing of men who 
are remarkable for integrity, sincerity, and 
absence of ostentation. Moreover, the fact 
of doing any action in a simple as contrasted 
with a complicated manner is, psychologi- 
cally, one of the marks of a high intellect. 
" But what about some of Mr. Gladstone's 
speeches ? " I hear my readers exclaim. Ah ! 
There we touch the tactful politician — not 
the man. When Mr. Gladstone intends to 
express himself definitely he stands unrivalled 
for a simple and direct choice of words : when 
Mr. Gladstone does not intend to express 
himself definitely, and when — as a politician 
— he thinks it wise to evade a point, he stands 
unrivalled for ingenious indefiniteness and 
subtle evasion. This quality of finesse is 
shown by the undulating, non-rigid direction 
of the lines of his handwriting across the 
page, and by the gradually decreasing height 
of the letters of his signature towards the 
end of it — for an illustration of my state- 
ment see No. 8 ; for a proof of its truth use 
your own observation in daily life. 

What is another prominent characteristic 
of Mr. Gladstone? His vigour? Aye! 
that it is. His opponents have felt that, 
while they admired the strength that hit 
them, and which has sometimes seemed 
badly directed — like the power of a steam- 
hammer whose gear is for a while faulty. A 
power that, well controlled, will now lightly 
crack an empty egg-shell, and now deal 
mighty blows at a mass of iron worthy of 
the Titan's force. Where will you find such 
up-and-down direct vigour of movement as 
is plain — even to the non-expert eye — in 
these facsimiles of Mr. Gladstone's adult 
handwriting? I cannot match these ges- 
tures in vigour and energy with those of 
any other man except Prince Bismarck, 
and of Cromwell in his prime. 

Is a strong — nay — a passionate nature 
one of the qualities of this great fighting 
man? How does a strong, earnest man 
often disclose himself by gesture alone — 
by gesture which will reinforce or even 
effectually take the place of spoken words? 
Is it not by the emphasis of nerve-muscular 
action that we judge a strong emotional 
side of a man ? An earnest voice, a deep 
eye as compared with a shallow glance, 
a strong hand-gesture as contrasted with 
lax movement, will often show to us such 

a trait. Now look at the incisive and clearly- 
traced writing with its deeply-cut strokes — 
they are the actions of a man who is 
thoroughly in earnest and whose nature is 
fiery and strong ; no cynic, no insincere or 
shallow man can write in the way now men- 
tioned. Had I the space, I would ask you 
to compare a letter written by Charles II. 
with the splendid writing of No. 23. And 
note this : strong as these movements are, 
they are held in thorough control ; it is not 
until we reach the later specimens that some 
want of control over the strong nature is evi- 
denced by the writing, which is also caused 
to be more irregular by defective sight. 

Another point about this writing is the 
attention that is given to detail. The /'s 
are dotted, the /'s are crossed, the punc- 
tuation and arrangement of the writing are 
careful. These things show order and atten- 
tion. See, too, how frequently Mr. Glad- 
stone has placed a little separate stroke 
at the top of the small r, in order to show 

9* P. VIRGILII MARON. &c 539-541 

. Necduro etiam audierant inflari classics, necdura 
In posit os duris ere pi tare incudibus enses. 
f Sed nos mmemtim spaliis con feci raus-eguor 1 
JEt jam teiopus ecjuam fumaotia tolvcrc colia. 

ft*. UcsusLU aMlU* Y*^- *~&~ 

^^9 L^i M hk 


&ft€ca£* ikc+rw 6tr/nA+ #li+.'«*£a'&ih$ 

NO. 3. — WRITTEN 1822—1827. 

(Jsrt, by irr Glai%*MU.) 
A i*ge of the '* Virgil ' annotated by Mr. Gladstone when at Eton. 




that it is an r. This may be seen in No. 6 
(Parsonage), in No. 7 (spare), in No. 8 
(understand, presuming, urge), in No. 9 
(dear), in No. 11 (sincerely); and even as 
late as No. 30 (character, your, yourself) 
there is the same peculiarity, which, small 
and apparently insignificant as it is, has yet 
some real significance — for this is a little 
bit of evidence of deliberate care and 
fastidiousness that no careless or slovenly 
man can show in his writing. The boy 
showed the same carefulness ; turn back to 
No. 3, which time has made indistinct, and 
there is much evidence of a fastidious pre- 

cision and care. The Eton scholar wrote at 
the bottom of No. 3, " How to be recon- 
ciled ? " and this is why the question was 
written. The boy wished to know how Virgil 
could reconcile two contradictory statements 
occurring in the 1st Georgic, line 125, and 
the 2nd Georgic, line 513 ; in the former the 
poet states that before the time of Jupiter, 
in the Saturnian age, agriculture was not in 
use, being unnecessary for the production of 
crops ; whereas, in the latter quotation, the 
rustic of the Saturnian age is represented as 
turning the soil with his curved ploughshare. 
" How to be reconciled ? " asked Gladstone 



7 6 



minor. When, at the top of No. 3, he wrote, 
" Infer the poverty of Virgil's imagination from 
the union of these metaphors," Gladstone 
minor made a slip, despite his care, for cequor 
here means " level surface " and not " sea," 
as the youth seems to have supposed. There 
is only one metaphor used, viz., that of a 
race-course, and the translation of the two 
printed lines marked 
by young Gladstone 
is as follows: "But 
we have covered a 
large surface in the 
lists (race-course), 
and now it is time 
to loose the steam- 
ing necks of the 
steeds." Thus, 
Virgil did not com- 
mit the error attri- 
buted to him of 
faulty metaphors, 
confusing horses 
and sea. 

By the way, is it 
not curious even to think of Mr. Gladstone 
ever having been Gladstone minor ? A line 
worth noting occurs in No. 4 : " Mr. Glad- 
stone seconded the motion, and suggested to 
the Hon. Mover the addition of a Book Case 
by way of Amendment." As touching on 
Mr. Gladstone's love for books, I may point 
out that No. 19 was written to a bookseller : 
"Please to send me the marked lots as 
usual"; and that No. 32 refers to the re- 
moval of books from Downing Street when 
Lord Rosebery recently succeeded Mr. Glad- 
stone. The words in No. 4, " Absent. Mr. 

Sanders during part of the debate, with Dr. 
Keate" suggest a mauvais quart d'heure for 
Mr. Sanders, as Dr. Keate was the head master 
of Eton, and was known as the IC terrific " 
Dr. Keate. The letter from which No. 19 
has been taken said, with reference to the 
books ordered, " if any require ' doing up ' 
please to do it." Mr Gladstone wrote No. 7 

/Hx**f i&vvt, f$33L 

y /te^u£}^ 

?a&^. &t^^- 

NO. 5. — WRITTEN MAY 4, 1833. AGE 23. 

at the Board of Trade. It was sent by hand 
to Sir Robert Peel, who returned it, writing 
on the back : " My dear Gladstone, I shall 
be very glad to see you now on Mint matter, 
and then to fix a time to see you on some 
other matters. — R. P." This specimen shows 
very plainly — as, indeed, do nearly all the 
others — the habit of clearly spacing-out the 
words in a line of writing, and the lines of 
writing in a letter : there is no confusion or 
entanglement of the upstrokes of one line 
with the downstrokes of an adjacent line — 
for the reason that a man whose mind works 

ft \ \\\ 

yjicu^L/lZL, ^zArz^y^ 

NO. 6.— WRITTEN MARCH 15, 1837. AGE 2;. 




dearly and with precision, almost 
unconsciously performs all his 
actions with clearness and pre- 
cision of method; he can only 
confuse and entangle his hand- 
writing under exceptional cir- 
cumstances, such, for example, as 
great agitation, illness, defective 
sight, etc. On the other hand, it 
is usually the case that persons 
who are not in the habit of forming 
clear and distinctive ideas upon 
the various sensations conveyed to 
the brain, also show in the choice 
and arrangement of spoken words 
a more or less marked degree of 
confusion and of want of lucidity, 
and the handwriting of such persons 
is remarkable for the lack of a 
proper spacing-out of the words 
or of the lines of words on a page of 
manuscript; frequently, the down- 
strokes of one line will be confused and in- 
termingled with the upstrokes of the line 
below. A man who thinks clearly and with 
precision avoids all such confusion in his 
writing, even when circumstances cause him 
to write much on a small piece of paper — he 
merely varies the size of his writing, and thus 
preserves a clear differentiation of the symbols 
used in the act, a procedure which is in itself 
evidence of an intelligent adaptability to cir- 
cumstances. For an illustration of this point 
compare Nos. 23 and 28, and notice how 
the confusion of gesture now alluded to is 
absent from every specimen on these pages, 
even from No. 32, which was written when 
eyesight was seriously defective. In fact, the 

bu^u^a, <f~L (Xa^c^<U^ 


£1*4, **+£t++*t** e**' 

u/4u&4*- uZiU 

NO. 7. — WRITTEN JANUARY 17, 1844. AGE 34. 

see Nettleship at 12" — this statement referred 
to Mr. Gladstone's recent visit to the oculist. 
This feature of lucidity, and the great atten- 
tion to detail already noticed in the writing, 
show a marked capacity for exactness in 
thought, rigorous definition, and fastidious- 
ness in the choice and arrangement of words 
made use of to express thought — although, 
as has been stated, such expression is some- 
times purposely obscured and rendered vague 
for the reason pointed out when I referred to 
the signature of No. 8 as illustrating finesse 
and a subtle mind. 

The entire absence of pretension that is so 
strongly evidenced by the handwriting of Mr. 
Gladstone is also illustrated by the wording of 

many of his 



fa^L*^^. A "*?-, H^* H/Hi^l**. 

Ma ft.— WRITTEN OCTOBER 21, 1847. AGE 37. 

For the explanation of the two Hne§ drawn through thit signature* tee page 74 

letter from which No. 32 has been copied 
contains these words : " I hope, however, to 
reach Victoria on Wednesday, at eleven, and 

JV y letters. No. 

Uyu^f CUf i s taken from a 

long letter full of 
careful and pre- 
cise advice to a 
relative ; the 
reasons for a 
certain line of 
action are set out 
with the most 
painstaking de- 
tail, and then 
comes the sen- 
tence facsimiled : 
" Pray do not, 
however, under- 
stand me as pre- 
suming to urge this upon you." Look also at 
the simple and considerate statement in No. 
10 : "do nou let xny one wait beyond usual 




hours"; and at No. u, which 
contains the first announce- 
ment of Mr. Gladstone's 
famous work on Homer. Can 
anything be more graciously 
simple than No. 12, both as 
regards the wording and the 
gesture which clothes the 
words? And No. 13, which 
is a fine specimen of simple, 
unpretentious movement, says : 
41 If you have a mind to 
mention to your Editor a 
classical article for the Quarterly, I think I 
could w r rite one." It is curious to observe 

9.— WRITTEN OCTOBER 1 6, 1851. AGE 



^^ >S^t^6 

have already laid stress upon the sincerity 
and conscientiousness that are shown in this 

writing, the 

fufiskajLj 4c£t*+^>> <t*^+&6 4i+J5*%t~ /u*i^^. _ *£- 
UU— d* l+^G-^lb ^^^7 ^c- CtrvuUr fat* **^-* 


NO. IO.— WRITTEN MAY 24, 1852. AGE 42. 

absence of 
has just been 
and yet I am 
now point- 
ing out an 
ness which 
some may 
tory to the 
pr evi ou s 
But this is 
not the case. 
The writer 
of gestures 
such as these 

the utter want of anything like pretension 
or conceit in this handwriting, and then to 
notice side by side with this trait of character 
a pronounced — I had 
almost written a reckless 
— imperiousness of 
temper. This latter trait 
comes out in the vehe- 
ment and sustained 
" rush " of the hand- 
writing across the paper, 
in its strong and rather 
ascendant movement, in 
the heavy downstrokes, 
which sometimes end 
with a significant little 
angular hook, and in the 
rigid commencing strokes 
of the signature, which 
are often carried up much 
higher than the strokes 
which follow them. I 

Digitized by 

must be 
aware of his own superiority ; he is, as I 
have shown, a man of strong convictions 
and earnest nature, and I explain the 






first announcement nf Mr tiiaiLit: 

1857. AGE 47. 
rVs irc:L on Homer. 




existence of this 
vehement impe- 
riousness of ges- 
ture by the fact 
that Mr. Glad- 
stone has pro- 
bably a deeply- 
rooted, sincere, 
and conscien- 
tious conviction 
that what he does 
and thinks is 
right and true — 
it is not possible, 
in the presence 
of the fine traits 
noticed, to 
ascribe this im- 
periousness to a 
mere personal 
vanity and love 
of power. 

No. 14 shows 
the two ends of 
a slip of paper, 
similar to those 
now used, that 
was placed inside 
a locked des- 
patch - box sent 
by Mr. Gladstone 
to his private 
secretary, Mr. West, 
sitting you may 

kvu/aL t&As%>^ cl*. &*~oC- 



fc^ . 

litC* Jeta lurfr dvt>iJlr U*CC k. IluacS 

NO. M.— WWTT** KOVBMBBR 30, 1861, TO MR. G. P. WATTS, R.A. ACB 51. 

When the House is 

see official messengers 

carrying these despatch-boxes to and fro. 

i^U^ytci^ to if/ft**, XcHtiA? 

NO. 13.— WRITTEN OCTOBER lj t 1867. AGE 57. 

One end of the slip projects from the lid 
and shows the name of the addressee and 
the name of the sender of the despatch-box : 

when this is re- 
turned, the position 
of the slip in the 
locked box is re- 
versed, the other 
end being left pro- 
jecting. Notice the 
strong line below 
the signature, how 
it thickens and 
ends in a sort of 
club shape at its 
end — it is a gesture 
of determination 
and resolute force, 
which is again well 
shown, for example, 
in No. 18. 

In No. 15 there 
is much less of the 
strong angularity we 
have observed and 
do observe in many 
of the other speci- 




mens. Notice the more curved 
form of the final strokes of the 
words in No. 15 as compared 
with the vigorous angles of many 
other illustrations : for example, 
the e of one, the / of //, the d of 
could) the / of delightful, the e 
of Gladstone, etc. The words of 
this facsimile, "I think there 
could be no one towards whom 
it could be more easy and delight- 
ful to put it in practice," are 
taken from a very splendid letter 
in which the writer referred to 
the exercise of the "virtue of 
forgiveness." The graciousness 
of the words is matched by the 
graciousness of their gesture, and 
we do not need to be very 
observant to know that kindly 
and gracious acts are usually 
accompanied in their expression 
by pliant and gentle movements, 
rather than by abrupt and angular 
bodily gestures. In such cases, the 
nerve-muscular machinery that controls the 
hand will impart to that also a gentler and 
more rounded movement. This is specially 
true when a man of sensibility and feeling acts 


N33A& ami 

•X3H0 TVH3N30 

NO. 14. — WRITTEN IN 1869. 
A despatch-box dip. 

AGE 59. 



upon the impulse of kind feelings. We here 
touch upon another side of Mr. Gladstone's 
nature — his sensibility. Even a casual glance 
over the many facsimiles now given will show 
. considerable variation 

rtt^^CL. £^JL*(~ £u~H<0 in the handwriting, even 


forUsti&ts l4s4> \>+ *-* » ■ ^ 

fiut^ttJL h- 


&4f~ t --~Uf/Y*^ r 

NO. 15. — WRITTEN JULY 14, 1870. AGE 60. 

at short intervals of 
time. There is varia- 
tion in the slope of the 
writing and in the size 
of it, in the shape of 
the same letter of the 
alphabet ; and, most 
marked of all, there is 
variation in the height 
of letters composing 
single words. All these 
little facts, which are 
plain enough when 
pointed out, combine 
to show a sensitive as 
contrasted with a 
phlegmatic and im- 
mobile temperament — 
and for the following 
reason : A calm, philo- 
sophic, unemotional 
man, who is guided 
mainly or entirely by 
cold processes of 
reason, shows little 
variation in his various 
forms of outward ex- 
pression, handwriting 




among the number. He may appeal to the 
intellect of others, but he will not stir their 
emotions and feelings as will a man of keen 
sensibility, who is also a man of great intel- 
lectual power and vivid energy and force. 
Such a man is Mr. Gladstone, but 
we may see the signs of sensibility 
I have now mentioned in the hand- 
writing of many persons who show 
no signs of the great power which 
is here enhanced and rendered 
brilliant by this very quality of 
sensibility to impressions. With 
many men, this trait is a defect 
of the character, even though 
it lead, as it often does, to the 
de/uatcsse of observation and 
quick perception which go to make the tem- 
perament of an artist — whatever be his art. 
A good contrast with No. 15 is the quick, 

writing is not free and natural gesture when a 
writer deliberately cultivates a special style of 
writing, such, for example, as that of a Civil 
Service candidate, who may spend six months 
in de-naturalizing his own handwriting in order 

Cl* £t Lm^4> l+i 

/^Sen^^^j *** 

{JU*Vk>*-~ vLpwMa*~ 


impetuous movement of No. 16. Here, nearly 
every stroke combines with another to form 
an acute angle— a sufficiently plain example 
for the observant reader of how the move- 
ments of a sensitive man vary with his mental 
state. Again, it has been noticed that when 
we write under the impulse of strong affection 
for the person addressed, our writing slopes 
more to the right hand, more away from a 
vertical position than when we write a letter 
upon some business matter to a person about 
whom we care nothing. No. 17 illustrates 
this, for it slopes very considerably, and it was 
written to a person to whom Mr. Gladstone is 
deeply attached. Of course, I speak of free 
and natural gesture in writing, because hand- 

NO. 16.— WRITTEN IN 1871. AGE 6l. 

to acquire the conventional style that his 
examiners may require from him. Quite 
recently, a letter of this sort was submitted to 
me, and at once rejected as faulty data upon 
which to base an opinion, simply because the 
gesture of it was obviously studied and non- 

One of the ways in which Mr. Gladstone 
shows his extraordinary energy and ardour is 
the almost constantly ascendant movement of 
his writing upon the paper — his signature espe- 
cially. To maintain this peculiarity through 
the Seventy-two years of his life that are now 
under analysis is an altogether abnormal 
instance of vitality and force. Examine your 
own writing when you write under conditions 
of mental 

NO. 18.— WRITTEN IN 1873. AGE 63. 


Vol. viiL — H. 

NO. 19.— WRITTEN IN 1874. AGE 64. 



or bodily 

fatigue, and 

note how 

the words 

in a line 

tend to 

droop below the horizontal level from which 

each starts, and how the lines of writing will 

often descend towards the right hand of the 

page. In No. 20 we have one of the very few 

instances, out of a 
large number of 
specimens, where 
even Mr. Gladstone's 
writing droops. In- 
spection of this fac- 
simile of a black- 
edged post-card will 
show that numerous 
words drop down, and 
that the "W. E. G." 
at the end shows the 
same abatement of 
ardour. This was 

Original fn 



fait*. fo>UUt. tSl*, l*W*4Er &V C*A* lA4l[ 


NO. TO. — WRITTEN APRIL 25, 1876. AGE 66. 

written under sad circumstances. If we wish 
to see how deep feeling, emotion, or agitation 
will sometimes cause us to unnecessarily 
repeat our written as well as our spoken 
words, we can look at No. 21, which 
says : u Forgive my sending you two 
pamphlets, one with with a horrible but 
true indictment against the Turk." We 
may also compare the agitated move- 
ment of No. 21 with the much calmer 
and very dif- 
ferent gesture 
of No. 22, 
which was 
written to Mr. 
asking him to 
see about the 
return of In- 
come-tax to 
a maid of 
Mrs. Glad- 

Very differ- 
ent is No. 21 

from either No. 21 or No. 22, which 
have just been referred to. In this 
splendidly simple and vigorous piece 
of movement, which, to the sensitized 
eye, seems to diffuse courage and man- 
ful action as much by its black and 
white tracing as by the noble words 
it contains, we have as plain a piece 
of evidence as we could wish to see 
of the noble simplicity, integrity, 
and fiery earnestness of Gladstone 
the man. Nearly every line runs 
straight across the paper — there is 
scarcely any of the undulating direc- 
tion of the lines which has been cited 
as evidence of the politician's subtlety 
— the strokes are all firm, strong, and 
simple. Mr. Gladstone was speaking 
right from his heart when he wrote 
these lines, and the words which 
follow those facsimiled are : " Be 
thorough in all you do, and remember 
that though ignorance often may be 
innocent, pretension is always des- 
picable. Quit you like men, be 
strong, and the exercise of your 
strength to-day will give you more 
strength to-morrow. And may the 
blessing of the Most High soothe 
your cares, clear your vision, and 
^^^ crown your labours with reward." 
WKJ So long as the page of handwriting 
shown in No. 23 remains in existence, 
so long will there exist for future biographers 
indisputable evidence of the great and noble 


"**l ^c^^cUt^r 

21. — WRITTEN MARCH 28, 1877. ACE 67. 

Is? £pt>44C4''~ 

V NO. 22. — M 

ligitized by Google 






! I A -it 


qualities possessed by Mr. Gladstone — the 
more so because this study of gesture is 
advancing in the estimation of men who 
observe carefully and who reflect cautiously 
upon what they see. 

To those who can catch the spirit of this 

Digitized by CiOOQ IC 

interesting study there will come something 
like a revulsion of feeling when they look at 
No. 24 and then again scan No. 23. In No. 24 
the politician comes out, although the letter 
is, of course, a perfectly proper one in the 
circumstances under which it was written. 



Here we again 
see the undulat- 
ing lines of writ- 
ing across the 
page, and here 
is a good speci- 
men of the un- 
dulating signa- 
ture dwindling 
into a point 
If Mr. Gladstone 
had tried to 
write his Glas- 
gow address 
(No. 23) in the 
same kind of 
writing used for 
No. 24, he could 
not have written 
the splendid 
words of that 
address — for the 
reason that his 

mental conditions differed widely upon the 
two occasions. Is it not to be regretted that 
so many little persons with political senti- 
mentalities will rancorously express opinions 
upon this or that great politician which are 


h/fai/rCL t t/ (M^A^ A*y*** fidbc* 

NO. 24. — WRITTEN APRIL X, l88l. AGE 71. 

NO. 25.— WRITTEN OCTOBER 13, 1884. ACE 74. 

based, if indeed they can be said to have 
any base, upon a scanty and superficial 
survey of political actions of any kind — for 
who can understand the mazes and in- 
tricacies of a prominent political life ? And 
how few are the politicians who 
can show to us in their recorded 
gestures upon paper the magnifi- 
cent qualities that are here 
detected and exposed — the hand- 
writing of some of these men 
makes me wonder at their 
effrontery in occupying a seat in 

Digitized by Gt 

the House of Commons, while the election 
of them reflects small credit upon the intelli- 
gence of their constituents, and upon the 
capacity of these voters for drawing even 
the most elementary deductions from facial 


In No. 25 we 
have the concluding 
words of a specially 
interesting letter 
that contains Mr. 
Gladstone's senti- 
ments towards 
Edmund Burke. 
After writing, "Yet I 
venerate and almost 
worship him, though 
I can conceive its 
being argued that all 
he did for freedom, 
justice, religion, 
purity of govern- 
ment in other 
respects and in other quarters, was less than 
the mischief which flowed out from the 
Reflections, " Mr. Gladstone wrote the one 
short sentence facsimiled, " I would he were 
now alive." This No. 25 is an excellent 

From a 

NO. 26.— WRITTEN IN 1885. ACE 75. 

♦Tennjttm" Birthday-book, lent bj » reUttTe of Mr. GUdston*. 





illustration of sincere, earnest, and frank 
gesture — observe the straight " run " of the 
writing, and see how the concluding letters 
of the signature increase in size instead of 
being fine-drawn down to a point The 
"Tennyson" birth- 
day - book, from 
which No. 26 has 
been taken, contains 
three quotations 
printed in the space 
allotted to the 29th 
of December. I 
quote the first and 
last of these because, 
curiously enough, 
they illustrate with 
approximate truth 
two extremes of the 
opinion held, as re- 
gards Mr. Gladstone, 
by some of his most 
ardent political ad- 
herents and oppo- 
nents. The first 
quotation is, " Our 
noblest brother and 
our truest man" 
("Gareth and Lyn- 

ette"); the last, "He taught me all the 
mercy, for he show'd me all the sin" ("The 

A*-**, 0&l2f*>L * *t+*A* Urn %**£„ & 
lunz*,£j f^tuApAt-vfUuZ tutu. 

May Queen "). As the great majority of those 
who hold strong opinions in favour of or 
against Mr. Gladstone have probably no surer 
basis for their appreciation of him than the 
published accounts of his political words and 

Jaa>l~. fatstf 

fi£l^Jk> Crt+A^J 

NO. 27. — WRITTEN OCTOBER IO, 1888. AGE 78. 

*0jUl*> prt+4- 


fa+^fh ^f t tt U 

NO. 28.— WRITTEN MARCH *$, Z89X. AGS 8l. * 

Digitized by L^OOQle 

acts, it would appear that an equally reliable 
way of forming such opinion lies in the chance 
association of this or that quotation in 
a printed book with the great man's 
name — certainly, this method would be 
far less troublesome in its application. 

The letter from which No. 27 is 
copied was written in reply to one 
sent to Mr. Gladstone by a relative 
announcing the death of a kinsman : 
" Beyond this, what can one say but 
that a Christian is gone home." Simple 
and homely words, that illustrate the 
plain sincerity of their writer's religious 
belief. No. 28 is worth more than 
casual attention, and for more than 
one reason. In the first place, the 
" rule " expressed on this post-card 
has limited the illustrations here given 
to a careful selection of extracts, and 
has prevented the insertion of many 
passages of even greater interest than 
those now facsimiled ; in the second 
place, the painstaking detail of No. 28 
is specially noteworthy, not only as 
regards the words written, but also 
on the score of the marked attention 
that is given to the details of the writ- 
ing — here comes in another feature of 
Mr. Gladstone's nature, his courtesy. 

a I I I '.' I 1 1 




In going through a large number of his 
letters, etc., I have been much impressed by 
the courteousness of the gesture, quite apart 
from the wording of the letters. For when 
we write a letter, it is surely a mark of 
courtesy to give full attention to the way in 
which we perform that action, just as much 
as the numerous little courtesies of speech 
will proclaim the refinement and politeness 
of a speaker. Whether Mr. Gladstone is 
writing to a stranger, or sending an order to 
a bookseller, or writing to a personal friend, 
there is the same attention given to the details 
and arrangement of the handwriting — he can- 
not permit his written gestures to be slovenly 
and therefore wanting in proper courtesy to 

NO. 29.— WRITTEN MAY 25, 1892. AGS 82. 

his correspondent. This peculiarity, the 
reason of which is obvious as soon as it is 
pointed out, might escape notice if I did 
not specially mention it, for many intelligent 
persons overlook the fact that in the act of 
writing each of us performs that act in our own 
individualistic _ 

cesses which may be usefully employed in 
this study of gesture : it will probably appeal 
to those who can recognise that facts entirely 
overlooked, or which are -regarded as being 
of small account by ordinary observers, are 
really of great moment in their special pro- 
vinces — it will probably not appeal to those 
who attach no weight to facts unless they are 
presented to their consciousness by the ton 
weight or by the square acre. 

An article upon Mr. Gladstone — even a 

non-political one — could, perhaps, scarcely be 

regarded as complete without some reference 

to Home Rule, so, in No. 29, I give part of 

a post-card, written prior to the general 

election of 1892, that contains a statement 

by Mr, Gladstone about Home Rule 

and " the people of Ireland." No. 30 

also relates to political matters, and 

must have been pleasant reading to 

the receiver of this letter, especially as 

he probably attached no importance to 

the droop below their horizontal level 

of many words in this specimen — even 

if he noticed this unusual peculiarity 

in Mr. Gladstone's writing, which 

smacks of weariness and fatigue, that 

we are not surprised to notice when we 

consider how many letters similar to No. 30 

were, almost of necessity, written at the stated 

time by this aged leader of men. 

I am not permitted to give the text of the 
letter from which No. 31 has been extracted, 
nor can the name be mentioned of the person 

way — a cour- 
teous man will 
employ cour- 
teous nerve- 
in u s c u 1 a r 
and a slovenly 
and impolite 
man will take 
no more heed 
of the little 
cour tesies 
shown in hand- 
writing than 
he will of the 
polite details 
of speech. A 
point like this 
serves as a 
simple and 
good illustra- 
tion of the 
reasoning pro- 








to whom it * j 

fice to say 
that the last 

sentence C t^^C<^^^tA^C^ 

part of which ^ ^*^ 

is shown, 
ran: "This is 
all the more 
kind because 
we do not 
agree in 
matters of 

opinion, al- if V 

though I 
trust we have 
a deep con- 
currence in 
what under- 

tnem. N0 31 __ WR1TTKN MARCH 21 , 1893. age 

Here again 

is the fine signature, larger than preceding whole of this writing is a wonderful piece of 
ones, perhaps because of eye-trouble, but with movement, in its earnest vigour, to come from 
the end of the signature as large or larger the hand of a man aged 83-84 — despite 
than the other non-capital letters of it. The certain irregularities which may have been 

E 83. ^f 



cZa*- » — 





On gin a mom 



caused by defective sight as well as by the 
emotional feeling expressed in the letter : 
genuine and deep feeling is often a sad dis- 
turber of regularity in handwriting, as it is, 
indeed, in speech and in other modes of 

Not the least remarkable of the pieces of 
Mr. Gladstone's writing that we have here is 
that given in No. 32. It was written two or 
three days before the oculist consulted by 
Mr. Gladstone gave his recent opinion upon 
his patient's eyesight Although many in- 
dividual strokes are here indistinctly denned 
— owing to the infirmity mentioned — there is 
no confusion between word and word, or 
between line and line of the letter. The clear- 
thinking, precise, and fastidiously courteous 
mind triumphs over grave physical trouble, 
backed up and • invigorated as it is by the 

fy^T X^r*^ ^^f *7 ***** *^- 


A letter written by Sir John Gladstone, Bart., on I>eeember 8th, 1*17, at the age of eighty-three, 
•simile there is a general likeness to tf *" " »--■-"■«-- -* »■-- '«■ -• - - • -»- '— - >■- — -*~- — - 

as regards the forceful energy, marked 

facsimile there is a general likeness to the handwriting of Mr. Gladstone, and there is a particular correspondence 

'eful energy, marked simplicity, arid the clear "spacing-out " of the written gestures of lK>th 

father and son. The extreme angularity of Sir John (jladstnne** handwriting runs a!mo*t into harshness- 

Splendid energy of the man. Look at the 
signature of No. 32, straight, firm, and power- 
ful ; with an upward movement instead of 
the droop that might so well be expected in 
the signatures of smaller men in similar 
circumstances — there is but one slight defect 
at the top of the W. Not only did this letter 
refer to an appointment with the oculist on 
the 2 1 st of March, but it mentioned the 
illness of Mrs. Gladstone, and said: "Our 
little grandchild has the beginnings of what 
will probably be declared measles or whoop- 
ing-cough.'' Notwithstanding the illness of 
those dear to Mr. Gladstone, despite his own 
illness and trouble, he goes on to mention 
details about "some book-clearing-out business 
for Thursday morning " at Downing Street 
The portion facsimiled relates to the moving 
of these books, the last words being: " and in 

the circum- 
stances it is 
difficult to be 
precise." The 
first words ot 
this letter are : 
"The stars 
seem rather to 
fight against 
us." If no 
other act of 
Mr. Glad- 
stone, except 
the gesture of 
this letter, ex- 
isted to prove 
his splendid 
courage, this 
f a c si m i le 
alone would 
furnish ample 
proof of it. 

We have 
answered the 
with which 
we started, 
and now for 
a word of ex- 
planatio n 
blended with 
an apology — 
if such be 
needed — for 
plain speech. 
In these 
sketches of 
c haract e r 
based upon 
written ges- 

iii tin* 

certainly it shows a stern and imperious nature— while the gtaciousness that comes out in Mr. Gladstone's writing 
Is not so apparent in this specimen of his father's gesture. 

{^rtrtrtl ■-« Original from 




ture it is perhaps to be preferred that the 
subjects chosen for them should be of a 
generation prior to our own. I have analyzed 
the writing on these pages by the light that 
many years' study of one branch of psycho- 
physiology ought to give to a student, and, 
while preserving the respect that is due to 
my subject, I have striven to maintain the 
fidelity that must be preserved in the exercise 
of niy art In most cases, the reasons for 
this or that piece of deductive reasoning have 
been given side by side with the deduction 
stated — but it has, of course, been impossible 
to give in a magazine article all the detail of 
explanation and of demonstration that I have 
given elsewhere, M Handwriting and Expres- 
sion/' Kegan Paul, 1892. The basis and the 
method' of this study 
of gesture should 
appeal to any sound 
intellect, but its 
accurate practice as 
an art cannot he 
undertaken by 
those who have not 
completely studied 

the data upon which the scientific theory is 

For the concluding illustration, let us place 
close to the old man's letter, written on 
March 19th, 1894, a facsimile of the inside 
cover of the boy's u Virgil/' used at Eton in 
March, 1822, which shows the Gladstone 
crest and the Gladstone motto : Fide et 
Virtuie—ioT has not this man among men 
as just a right to have this motto placed close 
to him in his old age, as had the valorous 
and pure-minded scholar — who turned his 
glass upside down and refused to drink a 
coarse toast propose d f and who, at Eton Fair, 
championed some pigs that were being tor- 
mented by his school-fellows, offering in 
response to their banter to write his reply " in 

good round hand 
upon their faces " 
— a justly - earned 
right, even then, 
to paste this book- 
plate in his "Virgil" 
as a guiding star 
to him throughout 
his future life ? 

NO. 33. — L\Slu£ COYKtt OF VlKtilL, 
(Lent b\f Mr. GkldAtOYtfJ 
Tb* iiuide r»f the rnT« nt hfa " Vinffl* nurd at Etun, ihAwin* 
Mr. Gl*dstDDo'i H'rcuL nm.] motto. 

Notk. I express gratitude for valuable aid as regards the loan of MSS., letters, etc.. to Mr. Gladstone, Mrs. David Gladstone, 
Mrs. Bennttt, of tele, Switzerland, Archdeacon Denizen, Mr. W + S. Holt, Mr, G. W. E. Kussell p M.P., Mr. Sidney Harvvy, 
Mr. John Murray, Mr. C. Kcgan Paul, Mr. F. Warn Cornish, M.A., Vice-Provost of Eton, M. X Cr£pieuJ^Jamin, of Rootn, Sir 
John Lubbock, Mr. G. H. Murray, CR-, of No. io Downing Street, the President <i8p4>of the Eton Society t The Graphological 
Society i,\ Paris, Mr. Arthur Nash, of Exeter College, Oxfi^rd^ and to Messrs, Nod Conway, autograph dealers, of 50ft, New 
Street, Birmingham, who very kindly placed their large collection at my service..— tJifrfC$ [\"\ 3 1 "[TO HTl 


Beauties : — Children. 

From a. Photo. b a A. * W. .VittnnJ, A'm-wfc*. 

by Google 

From a J'hola. bf A'JUIlJ ^V^iMP ' ' ' 




F. mrHtu.Sliwtuftlrtet.S.V. 

Front a i'kvt». b ¥ t'rma a 1'hutu. by Aidy, Jjiwrnjon t* "1 1 Fnm a PMa. bg 


The Khedive of Egypt. 

By Stuart Cumberland. 

whose visit to England will 
increase the popular interest 
in his personality, is a very 
different man from the ordinary 
type of Oriental Sovereign, 
He has none of his religious bigotry, his 
narrowness of thought, or ignorance of the 
outside world, its people and its languages. 
On the contrary, he is a man of considerable 
enlightenment, speaks several languages 
fluently, has visited many European coun- 
tries and is now seeking to draft on to the 
Egyptian system such of the European 
institutions as he considers suitable for 
his country. 

Whilst the Khedive Abbas is, and has for 
some time past been, about the most-dis- 
cussed ruler the world takes cognizance of t 
he is at the same time the most misunder- 
stood. To the public eye he is a stubborn, stiff- 
necked Oriental with the wilfulness of youth, 
fanatical in his hatred of England and the 
English, and, as a ruler, uncompromisingly 
despotic in his instincts. This view of him 
has been arrived at through the telegraphic 
fiction which malice and political exigencies 
have caused to be given to the world. 

It is time the public saw the other side of 
the picture ; that His Highness should be 
depicted as he really is, and not as he has 
been most falsely re- 
presented to be, 

A young man, called 
to rule at an age when 
most Europeans have 
scarcely begun to 
seriously consider the 
question of the battle 
of life ; full of energy, 
pluck, and ambition ; 
possessed of an in- 
domitable will, impa- 
tient of restraint, and 
anxious to be up 
and doing. Such was 
Khedive Abbas IL 
when he was called 
to the Khedivia 1 
throne — a throne 
which had been 
graced with the most 
amiable, the most 
easy-going ruler Egypt 
has ever known. 

I first saw His Highness when the much- 
ma de-of crisis was at its height, when I 
was assured that I, as an Englishman— so 
great was His Highness's hatred of every- 
thing English— would receive no sort of 
consideration at his hands. As it happened, 
His Highness received me most cordially, and 
on this and subsequent occasions I had 
ample opportunity of closely studying him, 

In manner His Highness strikes one at 
first as being somewhat cold — the coldness of 
Oriental reserve tempered with not a little 
natural shyness. But this reserve once broken, 
quite another man unfolds himself before one. 
His frank, pleasing countenance lights up with 
almost European vivacity, the half-mistrustful, 
questioning look in his eyes gives place to a look 
of confidence ; he converses brightly, intelli- 
gently, seizes a point with marked quickness, 
and is most ready with his replies. Eor one 
so young his general knowledge and insight 
into things are really remarkable. He has a 
high opinion of his dignity, and the training 
he received at the strictest Court in Europe 
- — that of Austria — has left a strong 
impression upon him. The officials, who 
under the easy-going regime of his father 
had such an easy time of it, find him a some- 
what severe disciplinarian, but no one can 
honestly question his sense of justice. 

Since his coming to the throne he has 
made many radical 
changes at the palace. 
In the old days people 
u^ed to drop in, much 
after the fashion of 
dropping in at a club, 
under the pretext of 
State affairs, to drink 
coffee and smoke 
cigarettes with the 
officials, N&US av&ns 
change tout cefa, how- 
ever, for Khedive 
Abbas emphatically 
declared at the outset 
that he would not 
have his palace turned 
into a Viennese cafi ; 
so to-day free coffee, 
free smokes, officially 
speaking, are ''off" 
at the Abdin Palace : 
the inevitable gossip, 
minus the smokes and 

KUlVb uf ttiVrT. 




From a) 

the drinks, is, however, still an — very much 
on. The most exacting Khedive in the 
world could not, I fear, stay the gossiping 
tongue of an Egyptian official short of cutting 
off his head. The Abdin Palace, I may 
mention, is the official palace, in Cairo, It 
is a straggling, although somewhat striking, 
structure in pink and white. It has a really 
magnificent staircase^ a romantic conservatory, 
and a r gorgeous State recept ion-room, picked 
out in white and gold. 

Khedive Tewfik was not a great stfckk^ 
for forms and ceremony, but there' is 
nothing that the present Khedive 
n so particular about as the manner 
in which those no matter how 
highly placed conduct themselves 
in his presence, any relaxation of 
the prescribed form of respect meet- 
ing with severe condemnation at 
his hands. His Highnesses look of 
indignation when a certain Euro* 
pean official presumed to cross his 
legs whilst seated in his presence 
will never be forgotten by those 
who witnessed it 

At the reception which His High- 
ness did me the honour of extend- 
ing me at the Abdin Palace (in the 
State reception-room), I was much 
struck by the great deference paid 
him by his Ministers. They know 
only too well that, like the heroine 
in Rider Haggard's fantastical 
romance, he is one who must be 
obeyed, and, outwardly at least, 
their obedience is unquestionable. 

Vol. Tali -13, 

There is much solemnity 
attached to the display of 
respect on the part of those 
surrounding the Khedive- To 
the European mind it at first 
seems strange to see grave 
and learned seniors practically 
abase themselves with their 
low bow and humbly clasped 
hajnds in the Rhedivial 
presence ; but it is not long 
before one sees that it is more 
than a mere matter of form ; 
usage ^requires it, but it has its 
origin in the Oriental reverence 
of rank and power Between 
the ruler and the ruled there 
is a wide gulf which, in this 
world at least, is not to be 
bridged over, and, as a being 
apart as it were, deep obeisance 
towards the ruler on the part 
of the ruled is the natural outcome of the 

It is asserted in European official quarters 
in Cairo that the Khedive is much given to 
treating his Ministers as if they were children, 
True it is that he imposes his will upon them, 
and they, as I have pointed out, show him 
every deference; but as to treating them as 
children, that is another matter. Undoubtedly, 
His Highness, with his indomitable will, 
quickness of thought, and activity of purpose, 
is at times a little impatient of the circum- 
locution' attache* to Ministerial deliberations, 

i rhaltwrmik. 

i-'y.-Nt a\ 

tMKANL E-H AU^j-fH^ ppjjjf ff, t^tfE, CA 1 h O. I PhUoffra^ 




and there are probably occasions 
when he would like to act altogether 
independently of his Ministers, few 
of whom have, in spite of his youth, 
his strength of character and 
determination of purpose. But 
His Highness is young, it must 
be remembered, and youth is im- 

As an instance or His Highness's 
sense of justice and his impatience 
of stupidity, I may mention a little 
incident that occurred at my 
thought-reading reception at the 
Abdin Palace, already referred 
to. I had tried the experiment 
of writing out a word in Arabic 
with one of the Court officials, who, 
through a combination of obstinacy 
and denseness, did not wish to 
have his thoughts read, with in- 
different success, and was trying 
with another official of the same 
mental calibre with a like result, 
when His Highness hurriedly arose 
from his seat and said, **I will 
show you how it should be done." 

I took the Khedive by the hand 
and at once wrote out, in Arabic 
characters, a word thought of by him + 

In the experiments I performed 
with His Highness I found him to be 
possessed of considerable concentration of 
thought, whilst his quickness at grasping 
an idea was most marked, As a rule, 

Ptout (j j 


| J't'n if". :.'■'■ rj-'i 

Digitized by V^ut 

Orientals are not good u subjects " for 
me; they, generally speaking, won't think 
straight Superstition has a good deal to 
do with it, for, truth to tell, they are afraid of 

having their 
thoughts read, 
Your Oriental 
thinks that if you 
ran get at his 
thoughts in simple 
matters, what is 
there to prevent 
you from divining 
everything that 
may be passing in 
his mind? Those 
who know the 
Oriental official 
will know what a 
terrible thought 
this must be to 
him. But the 
Khedive is an 
enlightened man, 
and I found him 
to be a most excel- 
lent "subject 51 
One of the 




things strongly urged against the Khedive 
in the European quarter is that he is anti- 
English, even to the selection of his staff. 

Now, as to this, the Swiss gentleman who 
acted as the Khedive's private secretary, and 
who, during the first "crisis," was the one 
man who, it was asserted, influenced His 
Highness against the English policy, no longer 
has the ear of the Khedive in the way that 
he was alleged to have had. This Helvetian 
gentleman must not be confounded with 
His Highnesses English secretary, Brewster 
Bey, one of the most straightforward and at 
the same time most amiable of the Khedive's 
personal staff. In Brewster Bey, who is an 
Englishman, His Highness has implicit con- 
fidence, and he could, no doubt, relate many 
instances of the generous treatment English- 
men have received at the Khedive's hands, 
for he is the medium between His Highness 
and his countrymen, and knows, perhaps 
better than anyone else, the Khedive's real 
feelings towards England and the English* 

Much has been made of the assertion that 
His Highness is given to taking heed of evil 
advisers. All I know is, that His Highness 
is a seeker after truth, and that he appeared 
to be most anxious to know how he could 
tell the true from the false. Almost his last 
words to me were : " How can you know 
when a man is trying to deceive you ? How 
can one tell that a man saying one thing may 
mean another ? Is there anything in your 
art to tell me this ? " ' 

I ventured to suggest to His Highness 
that this was the very rock upon which poor 
human nature liad been splitting for centuries 

hac:k i;Mk\M'i •; mi i-,\l.\li-, N'i-jak 

untold, and that experience plus a natural 
perception would alone aid him to arrive at 
anything like a satisfactory conclusion. 

His Highness has never, unfortunately, 
stood well with the representatives of the 
English Press in Cairo, and the British 
public has formed its opinion of him from 
the views advanced by these represent- 
atives in the newspapers here. The first 
difference with the English Press arose 
in a very curious way — but from small 
things do great matters sometimes spring. 
A representative of one of the great London 
dailies called at the Abdin Palace to see the 
Khedive, attired in a garb proscribed by the 
rules and regulations at the palace— the 
orthodox frock-coat and chimney-pot hat 
being de rigutur for callers- The Khedive, as 
was to have been expected, refused to see his 
visitor, A complaint was made to Lord 
Cromer, but, of course, without result, and 
the representative and his colleagues — for the 
Press in Cairo is a close fraternity— took it 
out of His Highness in their own way. 

His Highness is quite a sportsman, is an 
excellent shot, and is fond of riding and 
driving. It is astonishing the amount of 
really fatiguing work he can get through 
without being in the least knocked up ; 
indeed, his activity is frequently provocative 
of much groaning amongst his entourage, 
many of whom have neither his high spirits 
nor powers of endurance. 

His Highness has all an Oriental's love of 
horseflesh, and he has recently caused a 
Commission to be appointed to improve the 
breed of horses, and prizes to the value of 

about ^t,ooo are 
given by him at 
horse shows in 
different parts of 
the country, 

At Kuubheh, 
which is his fa- 
vourite residence — 
it can scarcely be 
called a palace — a 
short driye from 
the Abdin Palace, 
he leads almost the 
life of a typical 
English squire. 
There he has 800 
acres of farm land, 
which he strives to 
make quite a model 
farm of, pour en- 
cmragtr ies aufrts* 
On this farm he has 

CAB HO. IPhMuOraiih. On tl 


9 6 


From a] 

V.W M I-' <"F RAS-KL-Tftf, 


all the newest English agricultural machi- 
nery, with the object chiefly of impressing 
upon the native landowners the advantages to 
be gained by model farming as compared 
with the antiquated methods in vogue else- 
where. At this model farm one sees imported 
specimens of all that is best in Europe of 
horses, cattle, and poultry. His paternal 
efforts on behalf of the labourers and work- 
people on his estate are equally praiseworthy* 
For them he has erected a model village, 
with school, club, and mosque ; they have 
also a fire-engine station. All these His 
Highness supports at his own expense. How 
much further can enlightenment in a ruler go? 
A few words as to His Highness's personal 
habits. Like the Sultan of Turkey, he, from a 
State -work standpoint, is a hard worker. He 
rises every morning a little after five, and, after 
dressing, rides round the home farm or to 
the parade ground at Abbassyeh, returning 
to Koubbeh at half-past seven to breakfast, 
His breakfast is generally brief, being over in 
about half an hour, so that at eight o'clock he 
commences work on affairs of State, not in 
a merely perfunctory way, hut in real earnest : 

itMXtK l.\I-Ai 

-AAjllibH, NEAK AlEKaS'IJH] A. 

for he goes minutely into every detail of 
any question that comes before him, and, 
until this is done, nothing is either put aside 
or decided upon. His attention to State 
business lasts till noon, when he lunches 
with his personal suite. 

Luncheon over, he attends to his private 
correspondence, and reads the newspapers of 
the day, for His Highness is an omnivorous 
reader. From three to five he receives visits 
from the Diplomatic Corps and other officials. 
This over, he rides or drives until sunset, 
seldom failing to visit the stables, dairy, etc., at 
the home farm before sitting down to dinner. 
His Highness, like the Kaiser Wilhelm, is 
much given to paying surprise visits in 
order to see that his orders have been 
properly executed, and he prefers giving his 
orders personally instead of intrusting them 
to those about him. 

After dinner His Highness passes the 
evening with his Khedivial mother — by-the- 
bye, one of the most beautiful women in the 
East— and his sisters. 

In the summer months the Khedive leaves 
Cairo for the cooler air of Alexandria, where 

he resides at the 
Palaces of Ras-el- 
Tin or Ramleh. 

Such is the 
daily life of the 
young ruler of 
Egypt, about 
whom so much 
that is erroneous 
has been written, 
and who, through 
the medium of 
The Strand 
Magazine, will 
become better and 
more correctly 
known to the 
English ■ reading 


A Story for Children. 

HERE was once a villainous 
King of Erance, named Louis 
the Eleventh, and a gentle 
Dauphin, who was called 
Charles, awaiting the time 
when he became Charles the 

Ordinarily the superstitious and sickly old 
King reigned, trembled, and suffered, invisible 
behind the thick walls of his castle of Plessis- 
les- Tours; but towards the middle of the 
year 1483 he went on a pilgrimage, dragging 
himself to Notre Dame de Cl&y, near 
Orleans, supported by Tristan THermite, his 
executioner ; Coictier, his physician ; and 
Francois de Paule, his confessor ; for the old 
tyrant went in great fear of men, of death, 
and of God. 


One memory of blood, among a thousand 
— that of the death of Jacques d'Armagnae, 
Due de Nemours — tormented his soul 
That great vassal had paid with his head for 
an attempt at rebellion against his suzerain. 
So far, only justice had been done ; but the 
cruel conqueror had compelled the three 
young children to be witnesses of the execu- 
tion of their father, and, from that time, he 
had repented of this luxury of vengeance* He 
repented, but he did not atone* By a strange 
inconsistency, common to evil-minded men, 
remorse in him awaked no pity, and at the 
very moment when he was placing the 
Madonna between him and the phantom of 
Nemours, one of the innocent sons of the 
late duke was languishing to death in a 
dungeon at Plfcssis-les-Tours, 




A terrible and mysterious dwelling-place 
was that castle: its vestibules dark with 
priests, its courtyards glittering with soldiers, 
its chapels ever ablaze with candles, its 
drawbridges always raised, gave to it the 
double aspect of a citadel and a convent. 
People talked in whispers, walking on tip-toe, 
in its great hallsj as in a cemetery ; captives 
by hundreds, indeed, lay groaning and buried 
from the world in its vaults — some for having 
spoken of the King, some for having spoken 
of the people — but by far the larger number 
for nothing* Every stone in the castle might 
be looked upon as the gravestone of a living 
prisoner j and it was there that, idle, with an 
adventurous spirit, an ardent soul, the 
Dauphin Charles, then 
in his twelfth year, was 
being reared. 

Poor King's son ! He 
sought in vain to rest his 
eyes from the horrors sur- 
rounding him, A fresh 
and green forest waved 
at the foot of the castle ; 
but from the oaks there 
hung, not acorns, but the 
bodies of men. The 
Loire flowed by, brightly 
and gaily — but every 
night the King's justice 
troubled and reddened its 
waters. So passed his 
early youth, wearily and 

One day, however, his 
looks and gestures be- 
trayed a less passive state 
of weariness. 

The noonday ang^lus 
had already been rung, 
and his morning meal, 
consisting, in accordance 
with his orders, of light 
pastry and sweetmeats, 
stood untouched on a 
table, which the young 
prince rapped impa- 
tiently. Every now and 
then he rose from his seat, panting with hope, 
inquietude, and called : — 

%i Blanchette ! Blanchette ! why don't you 
come ? The breakfast is melting in the sun, 
and if you don't soon come, the flies will eat 
up your share ! " 

And as the forgetful convive returned no 
answer to his appeal, the poor arnphkryon 
continued to tap the flour with hte feet and 
become more and more uneasy. Suddenly 

Digitized by LiOOQ iC 

En i v;, 


a slight sound in the tapestry made him 
start ; he turned his head, uttered a cry, and 
sank back in his chair, filled with joy, and 
murmuring a sigh of immense relief: — 
" At last ! " 

No doubt it will be imagined that the 
M Blanchette " so much desired was some 
noble lady, a sister or cousin of the young 
prince, She was nothing of the sort 
Blanchette was simply a little white mouse, 
as her name indicated— so lively that, on 
seeing her run across the floor, she might 
have been mistaken for a flitting sunbeam, 
and so gentle she might have found mercy 
even with a hungry cat. 

Charles caressed his pretty visitor, gazing 
at her with delight while 
she nibbled a biscuit in 
his hand; but then re- 
membering that he owed 
it to his dignity to scold 
her a bit, he said to her 
in a pleasantly grave 
tone : — 

" Now, mademoiselle, 
will you tell me what you 
think 1 ought to say to 
such conduct ? Here, I 
treat you like a duchess ; 
I have forbidden my door 
to my father's barber and 
favourite, Olivier le Daim, 
because his cat-like face 
is displeasing to you ; 
Bec-d'O, my beautiful 
falcon, has died with 
jealousy ; and every 
evening, ungrateful lhat 
you are, you leave me, 
to race about the fields 
like a mere vagabond 
mouse ! Where do you 
go in this way, heedless 
of your own danger and 
of my anxiety ? Where 
do you go ? — tell me ; I 
insist on knowing ! " 

Pressing though the 
question w T as, poor 
Blanchette, as may be imagined, returned no 
answer to it ; but, with a look of sadness, 
fixirg her intelligent eyes on those of the 
scolding lad, she turned over the pages of 
the book of the Gospels, which was lying 
upon the table, and placed her rosy paws 
upon these words : u Visit the prisoners,' 5 

Charles was surprised .and confused, as 
happens to presumptuous persons when they 
receive a les^onnftytft^ foment when they 




think they are giving one + For more than 
once he had heard tell of strange things 
concerning the inhabitants of the under- 
ground vaults of Plessis-Ifcs-Tours, and more 
than once he had meditated making a pious 
pilgrimage to the prison of young Armagnac, 
whose age and birth more particularly excited 
his curiosity and sympathy; but the terror with 
which his father inspired him had hitherto 
restrained him, and now he reproached him- 
self for his timidity as a crime. He resolved 
to expiate it that very evening. 

A few minutes after the curfew had 
sounded, he slipped from his tower, and, 
followed by a young valet carrying a basket 
containing bread, wine, and fruits, he pro- 
ceeded into one of the interior courtyards 
of the castle. 

One of the company of the Scotch guard, 
pacing in the moonlight along the walls, 
challenged him in a hoarse and threatening 
voice : — 

" W ho goes there ? * f 

before tried the power of this formula, which 
reminded the people of old Louis XI. — 
soldiers, courtiers, gaolers, or valets — that the 
boyish pout of a Dauphin might suddenly 
change into the terrible anger of a King- 

The Dauphin and the page, guided by the 
gaoler, ventured, not without some little 
hesitation, into a damp and dismal vault and 
down a spiral flight of stairs, every slimy step 
endangering their foothold. All three pro- 
ceeded by the fitful light of a resinous torch, 
now beaten by the blind wings of a startled 
bat, now nearly extinguished by water drop- 
ping from the roof. At length a sound, vague 
at first, but growing more and more distinct 
— a sound of sighs and moans — told them 
that they had reached their journey's end. 
The guide retired, and Charles fell back in 
horror at the sight which met his eyes* 

Imagine an iron cage, fixed to the wall, so 
low and narrow that every movement of the 
prisoner within it must have caused him a 
thrill of pain, in which his sleep must have 


"WHO LUtb -liiLKh.' 

li Charles Dauphin." 

il He cannot pass." 

But Charles approached the officer of the 
watch and whispered a few words in his ear 

14 If it is so, go on, Monseigneur," replied 
the soldier, visibly disconcerted- M Go on, 
and God protect you, for if you are dis- 
covered, I shall be hung ! " 

Persisting in his purpose, the young 
Dauphin applied the same means successfully 
with the keeper of the prison ; the magic 
words which he employed being simply 
these : " The king is very ill" He had 

been a nightmare ! — and the captive was a 
mere boy, seventeen years of age, but so 
emaciated and pale as to appear, at most, not 
more than twelve years old. 

Scarcely arrived at adolescence, the un- 
fortunate Due de Nemours had suffered so 
much that his tenacious longevity had filled 
his executioners with wonderment, and made 
the gaoler who brought him his daily allow- 
ance of water and black bread pause on the 
threshold of his dungeon, and ask himself 
whether the grave-digger would not have been 
a fitter virginal from 



To open a conversation with the prisoner 
the Dauphin searched for tender words, hut 
found only tears. Nemours understood this 
silent greeting, and responded to it by a 
smile of gratitude ; then both conversed 
through the iron bars. 

When the one timidly announced himself 
as the son of Louis XL, the other could not 
repress a movement of astonishment and 
alarm ; but this repellent feeling speedily 
gave way before the frank speech and guile- 
less face of the Dauphin. Ten years a 
stranger to what was passing in the outer 
world, the recluse at first asked his noble 
visitor questions as naive as those of anchor- 
ites to rare travellers in a desert island : <£ Are 
they still building cities? — are marriages still 
being celebrated ? JJ But an unforeseen circum- 
stance gave a new and more pointed turn to the 
conversation, in which a third person inter- 
vened without 
the least hesita- 
tion or apology. 

The new- 
comer was no 
other than the 
Dauphin's table- 
companion, the 
successful rival 
of Bec-d'Or— 
Blanchette, since 
her name must 
be given. Pass- 
ing through the 
bars, by tavour 
of her tiny bulk, 
she climbed up 
the chained legs 
and arms of 
Nemours, and 
lavished on the 
prisoner caresses 
as fond, or even 
fonder, than 
those obtained 
by the prince at 
an earlier hour of 
the same day. 

" So you know 
said Charles, 
surprised and 

£( Know her ! " replied Nemours ; ** for 
ten years she has been my mouse, my friend, 
my sister ! n 

"The little ingrate ! This very morning, 
at the castle, she shared with me my break- 
fast biscuits ! " 

Digitized by \jOOsJIc 

so vou KMOW ulanchette; 

** For ten years, Monseigneur, she has 
come to my dungeon every day to share with 
me my black bread." 

" Indeed ! " murmured Lhe young prince. 
But his boyish anger quickly melted before 
the cunning smile of Nemours* 

" I do not think, Monseigneur, you will 
do me the honour to break a lance with me 
for the bright eyes of a mouse, It would be 
impossible for me, at this moment, to accept 
your challenge. See ! " 

And he held up before the eyes of his 
rival his arms, bending under the weight of 
their chains. 

Then broke forth an original and affecting 
discussion between die son of Louis XL and 
the prisoner, each declaring himself to be 
more unfortunate than the other. One 
made his adversary feel the damp walls and 
bars of his prison ; the other described the 

atmosphere of 
k *KiKw weariness and 

the living chain 
of courtiers and 
spies by which 
he was weighed 
down ; one dis- 
played his bodily 
torture, the other 
his bleeding 
heart ; and at the 
end of their dis- 
cussion, both 
arrived at the 
same conclu- 
sion : — 

you see, Nemours 
— therefore, you 
see, Monseigneur 
— I need Blan- 
chette to help me 
to live and suf- 

But as this was 
no settlement of 
the question, 
they agreed to 
take the object 
of their discus- 
sion as arbiter 
between them. 
"Now then, 
mademoiselle," said the Dauphin to Blanch- 
ette, " say frankly to which of us you wish to 

Thus appealed to s the little white mouse 
went from one to the other caressingly, and 
then, stopping midway between them, looked 




at each in turn, her sparkling little eyes 
seeming to say : — 

" To both, my children ! " 

Here it must be explained that Blanchette, 
as her intelligence, tender-heartedness, and 
gentle manners may have suggested, was 
something more than an ordinary mouse; 
she was, in fact, a fairy — named, for her 
compassionateness, The Fairy of Tears — 
who, for a slight offence given to a malignant 
sister fairy, had been transformed into her 
present shape for one hundred years, ninety- 
nine of which she had already passed, going 
from palace to prison (often prisons both), 
and from sorrow to sorrow, pitilessly gnawing 
to pieces all the bad books she came upon 
(there are, alas, no such mice nowadays !) 
and even munching up death-sentences in 
the pocket of Tristan, the headsman ! 

It was not long before that worthy com- 
panion of Louis XL returned to the castle 
and his master with him ; and with them 
came back distrust and terror. The prince, 
however, did not discontinue his visits to the 
prisoner; in fact, they became from day to 
day longer and more frequent, and even the 
gaoler — a fact which would have awakened 
suspicion in any mind less ingenuous than 
the young prince's— from having obeyed him 
reluctantly and with fear and trembling, 
seemed now to encourage these interviews 
and provoke them by his complaisance. 

One evening he and the poor young duke 
were talking as usual, Charles with his elbows 
resting on the ledge of the window in the 
door of the dungeon, while Blanchette flitted 
backwards and forwards between them, dis- 
tributing her caresses with edifying partiality. 
The conversation, which had for some time 
been desultory, turned at last to the subject 
of Charles's projects for his future reign. 

"What are you going to do, when you 
become King ?" gaily asked the prisoner, who, 
older in years, and more still in misfortune, 
exhibited in the conversation a marked 
superiority over his young friend. 

"A pretty question to ask me! I shall 
make war." 

Nemours smiled sadly. 

"Yes," continued the Dauphin, tapping 
his forehead, "I have long had my plan 
formed, here. I shall, first, go and conquer 
Italy : Italy, you see, Nemours, is a wonderful 
country, where the streets are full of music, 
the bushes covered with oranges, and where 
there are as many churches as there aje 
dwelling-houses. I shall keep Italy for my- 
self ; then, in passing, I shall take Constan- 
tinople for my friend Andr£ Paleologue ; and, 

" J - lizedby VjOOQIC 


lastly, with the help of God, I count on being 
able to deliver the Holy Sepulchre." 

" And after you have done all that ? " asked 
the young duke, mischievously. 

"Oh !— after that— after that," repeated 
the Dauphin, slightly embarrassed, 4 'I shall 
have time, perhaps, to conquer some other 
kingdoms, if there are any others." 

"And will taking so much care of your 
glory make you neglect your people? — will 
you do nothing for them^ Monseigneur ? " 

" Certainly I will ! In the first place, before 
setting off, 111 give Olivier and Tristan to the 
Evil One, if he will have them ; and I will 
abolish executioners." And as Blanchette 
frisked more joyously and more caressingly 
than ever at these words, he added, gaily : 
" 111 do something for you also, Blanchette; 
111 suppress cats." 

Both burst into laughter at this sally. But 
their gaiety was brief as the passage of a 
flash of lightning. They stopped suddenly 
and looked at each other in terror, for 
they had seemed to hear other laughter- 
altogether too unlike their own to be an 
echo — ring from out the shadow beside them. 
They presently recovered from their alarm, 

" Hope and courage ! " said the Dauphin 
to the young duke, holding out his hand in 
sign of leave-taking. 

The poor captive raised himself to press 
this consoling hand ; but his limbs, stiffened 
by long torture, served ill his pious desire ; 
he uttered a cry of pain and sank back upon 
his stool. 

"Oh, God! when shall I be King?" the 
young prince could not refrain from crying, 
as his eyes filled with tears. 

" Soon, please God ! " said Nemours. 

" Never ! " exclaimed a third speaker, until 
then invisible. And Louis XL appeared, 
followed by Tristan, Coictier, and some 
others of his familiars. By the light of a 
lantern, which one of them had held hidden 
beneath his mantle, the Dauphin beheld the 
terrible old man move with slow and feeble 
steps towards him like a spectre, muttering 
these words, broken by an irrepressible 
cough : — 

""Ah ! gallant damoiseau, you turn hungry 
eyes towards my crown, while I still live ! 
Pious and provident son, you are looking 
forward to my funeral ! Wretch, your sword ! " 

A fit of coughing more violent than the 
others interrupted him. 

Charles offered no resistance ; only, with a 
gesture of indignation, he repulsed Tristan, 
who moved forward to disarm him, and him- 




self handed his sword to one of the gentle- 
men present. Presently, on a sign from the 
King,, he was led away by the guards. 

Before quitting the dungeon, Louis XI. 
cast a look of hate towards the cage of his 
victim, then in the ear of his creature, 
Tristan, he whispered a few words. 

u I understand/' said the headsman ; "an 
end is to be made of it Leave it to me. 

At midnight " and he completed by 

pantomime the sense of a phrase already but 
too clear. 

The King and his attendants then quitted 
the dungeon and, amid the fading sounds of 
their retreating footsteps, 
Nemours could long dis- 
tinguish the voice of the 
nearly dead despot, cough- 
ing, scolding, and gasping 
out sentences of death with 
his last breath. 

Poor Nemours ! — that 
gentle beam of Heaven, 
called hope, had penetrated 
his dungeon, thcn t only to 
make the darkness deeper 
that followed it ! 

" To be seventeen/' he 
thought j "to have a brother 
like the Dauphin Charlrs, 
and a sister like Blanchette, 
and to die ! " 

And in each vague and 
distant stroke of the great 
castle clock, which was 
measuring out his last 
hours, he heard these words 


distinctly : M Die ! 
must die ! " 

Then, presently, down 
the long spiral stairs leading 
to the vaults came the 
sounds of hurrying foot- 
steps. A thin band of light 
filled the narrow space be- 
tween the floor and the 
bottom of his dungeon door— escaped from 
the lantern of his executioners, no doubt ! 

Then, feeling this his last hour was surely 
come, he hastily set down upon the ground 
the fairy-mouse which he had been holding to 
his heart, and cried : — 

"Farewell, my little mouse. (Jet away 
quickly and hide yourself well, or they will 
kill you also." 

Meanwhile the approaching sounds had 
grown louder, the streak of light became 
wider, the door of the dungeon turned on its 
hinges, and then, believing he already saw 

Digitized by GOOglC 


upon the wall the gigantic shadow of Tristan, 
Nemours joined his hands> closed his eyes* 
for the last time commended his soul to God r 
and waited for the end. 

He was not kept waiting long, 
" Due de Nemours/' said a soft and well- 
known voice, " you are free ! n 

The captive started at these words, 
ventured timidly to look around him, and 
thought he was dreaming* 

Charles was there, no longer constrained 
and downcast, but calm, grave, speaking and 
bearing himself masterfully, already aggran- 
dized and ripened by an hour of royalty. 
Xoble ladies were about 
him, contemplating with 
smiles and tears the young 
prisoner in his cage j then 
gentlemen, who, at sight of 
this outrage to infancy — a 
thing sacred to chivalry — 
laid hands upon their sword- 
hilts in a convulsive move- 
ment of indignation ; and, 
finally, there was a crowd 
of pages and squires, bear- 
ing torches, and waving 
their plumed velvet caps to 
the cry of " Long live the 
King ! " 

4i Yes," continued Charles 
VIILj "an hour ago, 
Heaven made me an orphan 
and a King. Nemours, for- 
give my father and pray For 
his soul," Then, turning 
towards his suite, he added, 
hastily, " Let this cage be 
instantly broken down and 
its fragments thrown into 
the Ijoire, so that not a 
vestige or remembrance of 
it may remain." 

The workmen, directed 
beforehand, set to work 
vigorously ; but, oh ? Mir- 
files passed over the bars 
into them, and the stone in 
which they were set only returned a dull, 
mocking sound to the blows of the sledge- 
hammers ! 

"Sire," said an old monk, shaking his 
head, "no human power will avail to execute 
your orders, for this cage is not the work of 
human hands. I have heard say that a 
Bohemian, a sorcerer, as they all are, made 
it, in times past, to save himself from the 
gallows ; to break it down the wand of a 
fairy w p ould now be needed, and fairies have 


prise ! Their 
without biting 




ceased to exist, and the Bohemian who 
constructed it has long since disappeared." 

" Let him be sought for and brought before 
me," said the King. " To the man who finds 
him — honour and largesses ! — a diamond 
from my crown if he is noble, his weight in 
gold if he is of low birth." 

And with a wave of his hand he dismissed 
his brilliant retinue. 

Left alone, with the exception of a few 
pages, who watched them from a distance, 
the two friends gazed at each other in 
silence. A terrible anxiety, which they dare 
not express, made their hearts palpitate in 
unison : " If the magic workman were dead ! 
— if the cage could never more be opened ! " 

They wept — and, strange fact ! 
— Blanchette appeared un- 
moved by their tears. There 
was a strong and natural reason 
for this. 

It will be remembered that 
her expiatory metamorphosis 
was to endure for one hundred 
years. Now, at that moment, 
ninety-nine years three hundred 
and sixty-four days twenty-three 
hours and fifty-nine minutes 
had elapsed since she became 
Blanchette. The clock of 
Plessis-lfes-Tours began to strike 
the hour — and instantly the 
dark and fetid dungeon was 
filled with sweet perfume and 
light ; the iron cage fell to the 
ground and disappeared. The 
terrified orphans thought that 
the castle had been stricken by 
a thunder-bolt. 

" Blanchette ! Blanchette, 
where are you?" they cried, 
trembling for the existence of 
their adopted sister. 

"I am here, my children," 
replied a gentle voice above 
their heads. And, raising their 
eyes, they beheld with amaze- 
ment the retransformed fairy, 
standing, wand in hand, upon a pedestal of 

" Have no fear," she continued ; "I am 
she whom you called Blanchette : my com- 
panions call me the ' Fairy of Tears.' Your 
tears are staunched, and my mission to you 
is fulfilled. Farewell ! " 

The little duke and the little King besought 
her not to abandon them yet ; but she replied, 
gravely : — 

iC It must be ; you have no need of consola- 
tion, but it is wanted elsewhere. I hear, 
near this castle, the sobbing of a beggar-child, 
and hasten to her. Adieu, Sire ! Adieu, 
Monseigneur ! " And she disappeared in a 
great burst of light. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things. 


HE only silent person at our 

table d'hote was a very tall, 

careworn man* who 

passed nearly every 

dish offered to him, 

and played with such scraps as he did take as 
if unaware of their presence on his plate. He 
sat with knitted brows, painfully preoccupied 
and obviously brooding. The comfortable 
German next to him, who sat with both 
elbows on the table, picking his teeth with 
one hand and ladling spoonfuls of ehopped- 
up meat into his mouth with the other, tried 
to draw him into conversation in well- 
masticated English, but the thin man 
replied either monosyllabically or not at all 

But suddenly, while the German, with 
many snorts and gurgles, was sucking in an 
ice from a spoon T the bowl of which rested 
in the palm of his hand — his elbow being, of 
course, always on the table— the silent man- 
suddenly turned to him and said :— 

u I think you had better begin to see 
about packing your portmanteau — you will 
have to do it in such a hurry after the telegram 

** Telechram ? ,f said the German, the 
words, the ice, and a gulp of wine all 
struggling for mastery in his throat " Vwat 
telechram ? Vwich telechram ? " 

u Oh ! about your warehouse in Hamburg, 

you know — the fire in it " Then he 

broke off suddenly, and said : u Ah — I 
forgot— I was only thinking aloud." 

The German choked, gulped, snorted, and 
sputtered — even more than he had during 
the meal; but his ejaculatory inquiries failed 
to elicit anything more from his neighbour : 

Digitized by GoOqIc 

and at length, stuffing a fig, a piece of 
cheese, some bread, and some wine all at 
once into his mouth, he tore the table^ 
napkin from his collar, and choked indig- 
nantly out of the room, 

During the next day I did not come across 
the thin man. In the middle of the night 
following I was violently waked by a heavy 
stamping and a stentorian shouting in the 
corridors ; this was followed by loud chokes 
and gurgles, which died away down the stairs 
and were heard again on the front steps — 
and I knew the German was departing by 
the night train. Next morning, at breakfast, 
I heard from the waiter that the German had 
gone to Hamburg in consequence of a telegram 
he had received. He had appeared greatly 
excited and upset, and the "boots" had heard 
him talking excitedly to himself about a fire. 

That evening, as in duty bound, I stepped 
over to the Casino ; in the peristyle I found 
the thin man, with his arms behind him, 
walking very slowly backwards and forwards ; 
the cigar between his teeth being hopelessly 
out, and unnoticed, Suddenly he flung away 
the cigar and hurried into the theatre ; but he 
did not seem to hear the concert, and as the 
music ceased he started up, muttering to 
himself, " Let's go and see that fellow lose 
his seven thousand pounds ! " and hurried 
away feverishly to the tables. He walked 
straight to the second roulette table on the 
right, where a visitor was engaged in staking 
little piles of gold pieces— twenty little piles 
at a time. That time he won on his tallest 
pile, staked on a full number, making a con- 
siderable addition to the heap he had already 


" I should advise you to stop mw" mur- 
mured the thin man, standing by his chair; 
but the plunger merely stared at him and 
resumed his placing of little piles all over the 

li Hum ! of course, if you will do it," 
muttered the thin man. "But don't say I 
didivt warn you \ " 

Zero turned up ; and the plunger (who 
despised the even chances) lost all his little 
piles: but on he went again full numbers, 
full transversals, carre, k eheval ; and again 
zero turned up, and away went the little 
Original from 




piles, Then the plunger placed a very tall 
pile on zero — and zero did twt turn up ; and 
so he went on until his heap had disappeared, 
and he had changed note after note, and lost 
all the change. Then he slowly rose, glared 
at the thin man, grinned a ghastly grin at the 
nearest croupier, and disappeared, (I sub- 
sequently heard that he had lost seven 
thousand pounds.) 

The thin man was becoming interesting to 
ma He placed a 5f» piece on "manque": 
" manque " won ; twice more on the same, 
which won; then twice on " passe/' which 
won. Fifteen or twenty times he staked on 
the even chances, and never failed to win. 
Then he placed on 
black the fifteen or 
twenty 5f. pieces 
he had won, saying 
to a croupier, " TIL 
lose those " : and 
black lost. He 
then placed his 
original piece on 
a full number — 
15:15 won. He 
left the 1 75f, he 
had won on he 
table and placed 
his 5f, piece on 9 : 
and 9 turned up. 

By this time the 
other players had 
begun to notice 
him. He placed 
a limit stake on 
the 1 ; several per- 
sons followed him 
and staked there : 
1 turned up. 
Twice he repeated 
the action on other 
numbers — and 

others followed him— and the numbers won* 
The croupiers interchanged glances, and said a 
few words to one another. Then one of the 
chefs got off his high chair, and went round 
to speak to the winner: but the winner was 
not there; his stakes and winnings, however, 
were still on the table, where he had left 
them. The chef went round the rooms to 
look for the thin man, but he was nowhere 
to be found. I had seen him quietly retire 
as the croupier had cried *' One \ " and quietly 
walk out of the rooms. 

Next morning, after breakfast, the thin 
man was smoking a cigar on the hotel terrace, 
and an irresistible curiosity forced me to 
sieak to him. 

Digitized by Google 


" I must congratulate you on your luck 
last night," I said* 

" Luck, sir ! " repeated the thin man, with- 
out removing his gaze from the pavement 
His voice was hollow and dismal in the 
extreme — utterly without hope. "No luck 
about it at all, except bad luck — -deuced bad 
luck, sir ! " 

" You certainly did not appear to attach 
much value to your success, to judge by your 
leaving your stakes and winnings as you did 
I presume you are aware that you won a 
considerable sum ? " 

"Aware? Oh, perfectly." 
" And you do not call that luck ? " 
"I do not call it hick, simply because it is 
not luck, and luck has nothing to do with it," 
replied the thin man, turning his gaze 
gloomily on me, " It is certainty, that's all, 

I happen, I am 
very sorry to say, 
to know what 
number will turn 
"What, always? 7 
"Yes, always 
confoun d it ! 
That's what's the 
matter with me, 
sir ! Do you think 
I should have left 
my comfortable 
home and come 
among a lot of jab- 
bering foreigners 
if my confounded 
doctor hadn't 
ordered me to ? 
Do I look like it 3 
sir ? " 

"Well, no; I 

must admit you 

don't I trust your 

health will be speedily re-established, at any 

rate. 1 ' 

" Not it, sir + When one's fool enough to 
go and get one of these symptoms which the 
doctors haven't come across before, one 
doesn't easily get rid of it. I shouldn't 
wonder if this beastly knowledge of the 

future were to hang about me for " 

"Knowledge of the future? Surely that 
can hardly be classed as a disease? " I said- 

" Oh, can't it, though ? The deuce it can't, 
sir! It's abnormal, isn't it? Very well, 
what's abnormal'^ a disease, isn't it?" 

" But," I said, " it — is it not a very -an 
extraordinarily unusual ailment to suffer 
from?" Original from 



( *0f course it is," replied the thin man ; 
"and doesn't that make it all the worse?" 

tf But what does it spring from ?" 

"Why, from the fashionable, up-to-date 
complaint — nervous exhaustion. Overwork, 
sir t resulting in super - excitation of the 
cerebral tissues— or some jargon of that sort. 
I tell you it's a disease, sir : the ancient seers 
suffered from it, I 
suppose : anyhow, 
I do and that's 
enough for me / 
And I came away 
to get rid of it by 
change of air." 

"Pray forgive 
me," I said, "but 
your case is so very 
peculiar and inter- 
esting that I am 
impelled to ask 
how F this ailment 
first manifested 
itself. J3 

" Oh ! — usual 
thing, I felt tired 
and depressed — 
couldn't sleep 
— had no energy — 
couldn't fix my 
thoughts. Then 
one day, when 
somebody asked 
me whether I 
thought the fine 
weather was likely 
to last, I surprised 
myself by saying 
' No ; it will begin 
to rain at three 
o'clock to-morrow 
afternoon, and 

keep on all night.' I kti&v it would, sir ; 
and when my prophecy turned out correct, 
my feelings were mixed, sir. 

" First 1 was surprised— then frightened — 
then glad ; but on the whole fright pre- 
vailed. It wasn't comfortable, sir; and I 
tried to believe it was all nonsense; but 
events would turn out as I foresaw, and con- 
viction was forced upon me. 

* 4 Now, sir, 1 daresay you think, ' What 
a wonderful power to possess ! What a 
magnificent advantage ! ' Is it ? Take my 
word for it, you'd have a different opinion if 
you actually suffered from it Advantage, 
sir ! Do you consider it an advantage to 
foresee a lot of miserable and horrible things 
which are destined to happen to you years 

Digitized by GoOglC 


hence, and to look forward to them and 
brood upon thern all the time until they 
happen? It's bad enough to remember a 
past misfortune if its effects continue, but 
it's a confounded deal worse to foresee one, 
and see it getting bigger and bigger like an 
express train advancing from the distance to 
smash you like a fly ! 

" Eh — what? 
1 Certain worldly 
advantages attach- 
ed to the disease.' 
What's the good of 
them, sir, when you 
know what's going 
to happen to you? 
/don't want wealth, 
sir ; shouldn't know 
what to do with it 
if I had it I'm 
well enough off for 
all my require- 
ments : and 1 don't 
want power, sir — 
nor influence ; I 
want to be quiet 
and jog along — 
and how the deuce 
can a man afflicted 
with the gift of 
prophecy be quiet 
and jog along ? I 
tell you, my know- 
ledge of my future 
is like a nightmare; 
and it makes me 
nasty and vindic- 
tive ; and the only 
use I care to put 
my ailment to is 
to worry people out 
of their wits* You, 
sir, for instance, would be deuced uncom- 
fortable — and that's putting it pretty mildly 
— if I were to tell you what will happen to 
you just about this date three years hence. 
1*11 spare you that ; and you have reason to 
be very thankful to me," 

I began a smile of amused incredulity : 
but somehow it would not work ! I tilted 
my hat a little to one side, and gave my cigar 
a jaunty cock to show my indifference; but I 
very soon put my hat straight again and 
allowed my cigar to fall into its usual serious 
position. I turned away from the thin man 
and sauntered into the reading-room, took 
up Gn/i^NnnL and sat down ; and it took five 
minutes to reveal to me the fact that I was 
holding the.taewsraper _upside down* 




Then I got up resolutely and went out 
again to the thin man, and, staring boldly at 
him, began : " I shall take it as a favour if 
you will tell me," but here my voice some- 
how seemed to die of inanition, and I finished 
up with "the time." 

The thin man chuckled inside him in a 
Mephistophelean way which told me he 
knew well enough that I had not come to 
ask the time. With a sudden violent resolve 
not to be a fool, I began to talk again about 
his affair at the table. 

11 You must have puzzled them considerably 
over there/' I said* 

14 1 have," he replied- " The administration 
fellows are talking the matter over now in a 
pretty state of mind ! One of them will call 
on me here this afternoon with a cheque for 
my winnings, and an inquiry as £0 what I 
propose to do. Of course they've long 
ago grasped the fact that I can smash 
the entire concern if I choose ; but my 
conduct has puzzled them. I could have 
broken the bank at every table if I had liked 
last night — but that's not my object I want 
to tease them. If you Ye curious, you may as 
well be present at our 

I accepted eagerly — - 
anything to distract my 
mind. After lunch I went 
up with the thin man to 
his room ; and within 
fifteen minutes the porter 
came to say that a gentle- 
man wished to speak with 
the thin man. 

"Shaw him up," said 
the latter. 

The visitor entered, 

" You are anxious — 
very anxious — to have a 
chat with me?" said the 
thin man, settling himself 
luxuriously in his chain 
" Pray go on — my friend 
here does not matter at 
all — you can speak quite 
freely in his presence." 

The visitor hesitated; 
then proceeded : — 

" I have brought to 
Monsieur his winnings 
which he forgot to take 
last night at the table. 
This cheque— — " 

"Ah, many thanks," 
said the thin man ; " but 
Vm not in need of it just r «^«™jiy* p***y 

at present If you would iike to put it aside for 
me— or, better still, if you would like to devote 
it to the good of the poor hereabouts— eh ? " 
The Casino official looked bewildered, and 
fidgeted, and stroked his beard There was 
a silence — awkward on the part of the 
official ; employed in suppressed chuckles by 
the thin man. 

" Monsieur proposes to make a stay in 
Monte Carlo ? n asked the official, very 

11 Well— 1 really haven't decided, 11 said the 
thin man, cheerfully, 

"Ah !— then — Monsieur proposes to con- 
tinue towards us the honour of visiting the 

"Why, I haven't made any plans about 
that, either." 

The official stroked his beard in a deso- 
lated way : the expression of anxiety on his 
brow was obvious and painful. He glanced 
from the thin man to me. 

" Monsieur might— ah ! — might perhaps be 
disposed to acquiesce in some little arrange- 
ment touching his departure ? " he said at 
length, somewhat hoarsely, "The adminis- 
tration are always liberal, 

and ." 

"Oh, I'm not in want 
of money," said the thin 
man, cheerfully. u You 
might glean that from my 
leaving my winnings last 

"That is true, my 
faith ! " said the official 
"But — the truth is — 
Monsieur appears to 
enjoy extraordinary good 
fortune — wonderful 
chance ! " 

" Luck, you mean, of 
course. It is not luck, 
however, my dear sir : it 
is simply a knowledge cf 
the future — that is all. 
Will you kindly keep your 
eye on the corner of that 
house on the sea-front 
there, while I tell you 
about the persons who 
will pass from behind it 
on the pavement ? A fat 
man in a brown coat — 
there he is, you see ; three 
ladies and a little dog — 
there they are ; a police- 
man and a gendarme 
w<T"a i'HiTE%AndSh:fq laWrcjmg a white parcel ; 




next, a white dog ; now a woman with a 
large basket." 

There was no possibility of the thin man 
having seen the pedestrians before they 
appeared from behind the house. The 
Casino official turned pale and scratched his 

" You perceive— there's no ' luck J about 
it," continued the thin man; "I wish there 
were, confound it ! Well, it may have oc- 
curred to you that it is in my power to fore- 
tell every ccup in the play-rooms ? "—he kept 
his twinkling eye fixed on the official, whose 
jaw had dropped in despair, and chuckled 
inwardly all the time he spoke— "to com- 
municate the knowledge to others— to every- 
one in the rooms, in fact. I might break every 
bank, every day, until the place simply had to 
be shut up ; think of that, my dear sir— s/tuf 
up} I could simply sweep away the whole 
place ; just turn that over in your mind ! 
But perhaps you have ? " 

There was little doubt that the official 
had: he was ghastly pale, and his eyes 
were staring like a madman's ; while the 
thin man, grinning cheerfully, sat up in his 
chair and looked straight into the others 

u But — surely — Monsieur — man Dieu — 
Monsieur has not the hardness of heart to 
propose to himself so terrible apian? We 
have not offended Monsieur in any way ? 
We are at Monsieur's commands, Anything 
we can do to make him pleasure -all our 
possible — is at his disposition ! Monsieur 
would like to accept a share in the under- 
taking— a very large share? Even a* quarter 
— a half ? Monsieur will do the honour of 
joining the administration?" 

The thin man laughed softly. 

; Oh, dear, no ! " he said, pleasantly; "I 
have no ambition in that direction. Really, 
I haven't decided on any plan. 1 may amuse 
myself at the tables" (the official winced, 
and his teeth chattered) — " or, on the other 
hand, I may never enter again- Goodness 

" But— at least — Monsieur will give me his 
promise to abstain from communicating his 
terrible knowledge to persons — to the crowd? 
He will be so gentle as to promise " 

" Oh — I really can't make any promises, 
you know. Why should I ? " 

" But — reflect — you do not hate us, 
Monsieur ? " 

"Oh, dear, no," said the thin man, agree- 
ably. "Not a bit of it. You have amused 
me with splendid concerts, and all that, all 
for nothing. I am inclined to like the 


administration. Whatever I do will simply 
be to amuse myself — of course, it may 
be bad for you — I don't say it will y you 

The official rose, pale and bewildered. He 


passed his hand across his forehead, damp 
with drops. He went towards the door — 
hesitated and turned back— then bowed and 
went slowly out. 

"Now, you know, this affair will tease 
those fellows. They'll be in an awful state 
of mind, eh? That's what I want— I shall 
leave them in perplexity — see? Hang over 
them like a sword — they'll always be on the 
tremble for fear I'm going to turn up> or 
set up an establishment to give people tips 
about the winning numbers !" He chuckled 
consumed!)' ; then he added : — 

"As a matter of fact, I'm off to-night ; 
but I shall tell the landlord that I 
may return very shortly ■ they'll find that 
out over there ; and thev will have a time 
of it ! " 

I could eat no din tier that day ; I could 
not keep my pipe alight that evening; I 
could not listen to the concert at the Casino ; 
the thin man's words to me, " I'll spare you 
that, and you have reason to be very thank- 
ful to me ! " buzzed in my head until I felt 
giddy. Three or four times I went to his 
door to seek him and beg him to tell me at 
once what was to happen to me ; but I could 
not screw up my courage to hear it I 
loathed hi^j^yhat did no good. He was 




going away that night — could I let him go, 
carrying that secret with him, and perhaps 
never see him again ? Then I said to my- 
self: "Don't oe a fool! Treat tt all as a 
stupid imposture, or a dream ! " and I actually 
undressed and got into bed ; and immediately 
got out again and dressed. He was going 
westward by the midnight train ; I went down 
and got my bill and told them to put my 
luggage on the omnibus for that train. 

He chuckled again when I got into the 
omnibus with him, and said : "You've de- 
cided to depart very suddenly, haven't you ? 
No bad news of any kind, I hope? n 

Twenty times in the train I opened my 
month to ask him what it was that was to 



happen to me just about three years hence ; 
and at last the question did burst out wildly, 

" Oh — that ? n he said ; " you haven't for- 
gotten those chance words of mine? Oh, 
dear ; let's forget them ; we won't bother 
ourselves about that You'll find out in 
good time, / can tell you ! " He grinned 
and nodded his head several times. u Now, 
shall I tell you what I'm going to do? It 
will amuse you. There's an American 
millionaire in Paris who has just been 
operating tremendously — plunging heels over 
head in a certain speculation. 

* £ I happened to get this information in a 
letter from a friend of mine in Paris ; I don't 

Vol, viiL— 16. 

know what's happening synchronously around 
me except in the ordinary way of knowing 
it ; it's only the future that this confounded 
ailment of mine causes me to see — hang the 
thing ! Well, I foresee that that speculation 
will come to the most disastrous smash unless 
the American fellow takes a certain course ; 
and I'm going to tell him that, but keep him 
in the dark as to the course he ought to 
choose — see ? It will turn his hair grey, ch ? " 
" You really seem very vindictive ! " I 
exclaimed, in spite of myself 

His whole expression changed suddenly — 
he seemed to become suddenly haggard, the 
victim of an overpowering horror, as he 
replied : — 

"It is about two 
months now since the 
foreknowledge of the 
hideous thing which is 
to happen to me seven 
years hence first darted 
into my brain, The 
thing in store for me 
at that time is about 
as awful ns anything 1 
have ever imagined — 
and it will happen ! 
I've brooded on it 
now for these two 
months, until I won- 
der I am not mad. I 
was a stoutish man 
before this horrible 
ailment of mine — 
look at me now ! 

" Well, this fore- 
knowledge has embit- 
tered me — soured me, 
I lie awake all night 
brooding on that thing 
which is to come, 
until I scream some- 
11 It has made me ill-natured — my only 
diversion is to give other people a touch of 
what I feel myself. I try to keep my mind 
off my own misery hy that amusement 
There's your case, for instance — there's the 
thing which is to happen to you on the 
igth of March three years hence — the 
19th of March; don't forget! It is not 
quite so horrible as my fate — but in 
all conscience it is enough to make one 
shudder, my dear sir ! You can't avert it : 
it's sure to come— but, there; it's one of 
those things which it is best not to dwell 
upoh ; so let's forget it, and talk about other 
things. Look at that station-master there- 



there's a nice thing to happen to him in three 
weeks' time ; egad, 1 should like to get down 
and tell him about it, only I can't speak 
French well enough. Dear, dear ; now I 
regret that I can't ; what a drawback it is to 
be unable to speak a language ! M 

1 let him rattle on, and ceased to hear 
what he said. Should I refuse to hear what 
my fate was to be— get out at the next 
station and hurry off? Or should I beg him 
to tell me, for mercy's sake ? Or should I 
ma&e him reveal it — threaten to kiil him 

unless -? Pooh ! He knew I could not 

kill him : he knew he had to live seven years 
at least — until that calamity came upon him- 

So I determined to keep touch with him ; 
travel with him to Paris, and never lose sight 
of him : and I went to the same hotel with 
him at Marseilles. I overheard him tell the 
porter of his intention to leave by the train 
on the following night : but next day I found 
he had gone by the morning train, I took 
the next train to Paris, and used every plan 
I could think of to find him— for three weeks 
I was on his track : but I had lost him* 

So there was that 19th of March three 
years thence hanging over me I I struggled 
hard to thrust the thing from my mind, 
Liking up all kinds of occupations to drive 
it away ; but the thought would come 
upon me at intervals with such force that 
I could get no sleep for weeks together. 
My hair began to turn prematurely grey, 
and my face became wan and furrowed. 

I was told by friends that I was a ghastly 
si^ht ; and my unconquerable 
gloom drove them from my 

And one day I was travel- 
ling on the District Railway, 
face to face with the only 
other occupant of the com- 
partment He was a plump, 
contented-looking man ; and 
there was something in his 
manner which I seemed to 
recognise. Suddenly he began 
to stare at me ; then an ex- 
pression of great mental dis- 
tress passed over his face ; 
and he said : " Were you 
ever at Monte Carlo ?" 

A conviction was growing 
m my mind as I replied, 
unfortunately for 

u Yes 
great pity. 

placed his 

as if 




u In March — two years ago ?" he asked 
" Yes — curse the time ! " 
M Do you know me ? " he said, in a 
trembling voice, 

" Yes ! " I almost screamed, starting up. 

"You are the fiend who Will you tell 

me n#w what is to happen to me — a year 
hence — the 19th of next March?" 

He was silent ; he passed his hand over his 
brow as if in a strained effort to remember ; 
and he looked at me in a way so helpless, 
so remorseful, so beseeching, that I felt my 
expression of deadly hate relax and my 
clenched fists open. Again he laid his hand 
on mine, and said, in a faltering voice :— 

" 1 can recollect nothing— flw/A/wf — of the 
things I foresaw during my ailment When 
I returned to London I recovered from my 
abnormal condition of mind, and all the future 
faded from me* I can remember that I fore- 
told something which was to happen to you 
at some date or other, but that is all." He 
looked at me and shuddered ; there was no 
need for him to UIl me how changed I was. 

"Try ! " I said ? hoarsely. Again he tried 
— it was useless. 

Then, suddenly, it came over me that notv 
had arrived my opportunity for revenge ; he 
had evidently forgotten that a horrible fate 
was to overtake him five years from then, I 
chuckled inwardly in a demoniac way, and 
thought over the words in which to remind 
him of the coming catastrophe— but he was 
still looking at rue with that crushed look of 
remorse and pity ; and I could not say the 
thing. He covered his face 
with his hands, and tears 
trickled from between his fin- 
gers, I was silent. "Why 
don't you kill me ? " he said. 
''Perhaps," he said, sud- 
denly brightening—" perhaps 
that foreknowledge of mine 
was all nonsense— merely a 
mental hallucination. It must 
have been — the thing is im- 
possible ! " 

" Do you recollect the 
numbers on the roulette 
table?" I said, "and the 
people passing along the sea- 
front ? and the German's 
telegram ? ,J 

" 1 will try my hardest, 
day and night, to recollect ! " 
he said, " Here is my 
address — — . Cc ncl 

stay with me t so that if, at 
any moment, the recollection 
Original from 


R All-WAV." 


1 1 1 

comes upon me, you may he at hand to hear. 

What a demon I must have been at that time 

— why ? I wonder. What can have changed 

me so then ? It is not my nature ! " 

Here was the opportunity to enlighten 

him — and I was silent 


He has tried for a year, now, to recollect 
— tried incessantly. He has grown careworn 
again — nearly as much so as when I first 
knew hirn. 

For the last three months I have been 
always at his side, watching his face for the 
first gleam of memory ; but it has never 

come. Again and again, in my moments of 
horror , I have almost told him of the fate 
hanging over him, and due in a little over 
four years — but I have not done it* I feel 
half mad at times. I am very ill, and have 
become an old man at thirty-four. He is 
sitting by me, holding my hand, and reading 
to me. 

Now and again a shudder passes over him, 
and he ceases to read, and passes his hand 
across his knitted brow. The sun is setting 
in a bank of black clouds. It is March 18th ! 

J, F. Sullivan. 

by Google 

Original from 



til ■ l 

*h^ tin*. *jX* tflt *dv****d f^rhf tmjjtfit *w 

fat t,U{ tt»f Jf *i*^ t* ^Tw^fcH^ 4i«.*»*rfc4 *nj it* b« fc**i-* *fr 
Ci^Adur* a ^ ft* £**t iMrfuffthrthtt ? 

0?C?vTfct m ^mK(r tiin» ,*««! &**•*- fr n * ul*lA^,ViU^^^ CMnf 

Initni'wv'ri-nfr ii-i 1-5 * li- uckfker 7 - iP.-n.lfSl 

HI!- riF*rj< ^Fl t(, *n fcs'llllll^itlilfc. **t M-.CI-K.JV j 

Vn.1. t 1 1 1l>it i ■ ft *£ Ki h n ^ 

"*h v ^j Th * tt. t", ** f^-t <*r>iter &ri-*T* n-^t, ire 

to 1ht fl*4M knii V£c *'*CfliL „ in J 4cc»fh1 Tu 
ft* J f j 1 ^ e i* 1 fkjj trf tb iiti{"i.iniiii J i * e i ft ' i n, c 
fl kV ih£ ™ £» "1 U Tti* n crter i n fr J 'j . *■:""■ rtv i-^ in . *. r 
4#vtn t-n. Ti * h. fi lrp, ; f ti. ifi e t «. tt *.t^ frj ^f tfi g 1 p uw>v 

^-^M« 11-.* 1--..1 

by Google 

SiTntlfii *, L erf tt << * It ' " 4- 

Original from 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 


by Google 

Original from 

The Croissey Yew. 

From the French of Maurice Saint-Aguet, 

AM going to tell you, mon- 
sieur, why I come every even- 
ing to smoke my pipe under 
the Croissey Yew. 

My story goes back to the 
end of the year 1812, Brought 
up by an old uncle, the curt of a neighbour- 
ing village, having already a footing in the 
Pope's army, I had escaped the requisitions 
of the Emperor \ as an ecclesiastic the con- 
scription had spared me. But almost at the 
same time my old uncle died, and the worthy 
man, from having given all he possessed to 
the poor, even to the shirt off his back, had 
nothing to leave to his nephew but the 
poverty from which he had drawn others, 
There was I, then, at twenty, free, alone in 
the world, without means, and full of disgust 
at my calling* undecided as to all others ; 
in short, in that state in which one is at the 
mercy of mere chance, 

I have told you that I loved to dream, 
while waiting for the means of living ; and I 
often came to this spot to rebuild the u Chateau 
en Espagne " I had reared the night before, 
and which had crumbled in the interval. 
But I had wearied of standing at the foot of 
this colossal yew- 
tree which covers 
in and freezes us 
with its shade, and 
which stands on 
the edge of the 
precipice expressly 
to shelter the spec- 
tator, and I had 
established a sort 
of dwelling-place 
in its branches, 
where I succeeded 
in making myself 
believe that I was 
isolated like an 
eagle on the watch, 
and secure from 
discovery as the 
most confirmed 
misanthrope or 
dullest philosopher 
could desire to be. 
One evening I 
was at my post. 

The moon was rising* Suddenly I heard 
something below me : it was the voice, or 
rather the sob, of a woman, saying :— 

" The last time ! n ' 

Then I heard something which sounded 
to me extremely like a kiss, followed by the 
voice of a man, replying : — 

11 Come, come, Louise ; a little courage ! " 

Another voice, that of a young girl, soft 
but decided, then said : — 

11 No, no— not the last time — I will not 
have it so, I tell you ! " 

Considerably mystified by this stray frag- 
ment of conversation, I peered through the 
branches, and perceived in the moonlight a 
young man in the dress of a workman, 
having in his hat the bow of ribbons and 
the fatal number* He was sustaining with 
his right arm a young girl, who was weeping 
on his bosom, and giving his left hand to 
another and smaller girl, who was not weep 
ing. It was she, doubtless, who had said ; 
" I will not have it so." I quickly under- 
stood that it was the conscript's parting that 
was taking place. 

" Poor Christine," replied the young man, 
smiling sadly; "your will goes for nothing 
in this matter, sister I am not the master/* 


Original from 



"But, brother, since it is you who have 
reared me, you are the father of the family ? 
You must not go away — besides, you are 
married, for you are betrothed to Louise — 
who does nothing but weep, as if that would 
do anything ! " 

And the pretty rebel, who appeared to be 
charming in the moonlight, fell to crying 
too. Louise replied in a voice broken by 
sobs : — 

" Christine — is unreasonable — isn't she, 
Eugfene — unreasonable ? " 

" My poor dears ! " replied Eugene, 
tenderly, pressing them to his bosom. 

" Well, then, Louise," cried Christine, sud- 
denly, "prove to me the strength of your 
courage ! Since he will not listen to either 
of us — since he believes that we can do 
nothing for him — you see the quarry before 
us ; it is deep and goes straight down from 
the brink — come with me ! " 

And, completely losing her head, she took 
the hands of Louise and drew her from the 
arms of Eugfene. 

" Are you both mad ? " cried Eugfene. 
" Can't you see that I must go with the others 
to fight for France ? — for you ? — for the cross ? 
Louise, Christine, I shall return in eight years, 
and if I do not find my sister and my 
beloved one then, what will there be left for 
me ? Do you wish me also to kill myself? — 
that I should not have the memory of you in 
my heart, to make me fight like a lion, to 
bring you back a pair of epaulettes? Let 
me go ; one only has to serve one's time, and 
all is said." 

" Oh ! his time ! " replied Christine. " There 
was Stephane, the mechanic, who went away 
with the others to Russia : he served his time 
— he died at Moscow — and his mother is in 
mourning for him. The others, will they 
ever come back ? His time ! with their dog 
of an emper " 

" Will ypu hold your tongue ? " interrupted 
Eugfene, clapping his hand over her mouth. 

" No, I will not hold my tongue ! Haven't 
you a colonel — he w T ho enrolled you ? Well, 
go to him, throw yourself on your knees 
before him and say, ' Monseigneur, I 
don't want to go with you — I don't want to be 
killed. I have a sister and a wife who can- 
not live without me, and who will throw 
themselves into the river if I am taken from 
them. Beat me, Colonel— put me in prison, 
but don't take me away for a soldier. Long 
live the Emperor ! — he's ? worthy man ; let 
him leave me in peace and go wherever he 
likes. Look you, Colonel, I am a man, I am 
free, and I have no right to leave my sister 

Christine against her will— and she'll detest 
you, Colonel, if you compel me to go.'" 

"That would be pretty conduct on the 
part of a soldier ! " replied Eugfene, who 
could not help laughing. 

" Unfeeling, cruel brother ! " she cried, in 
tears, throwing herself into the arms of 

A moment of silence followed. I was deeply 
touched — so absorbed in the situation, that I 
forgot my own. Presently Christine raised 
herself, and was apparently a little more calm. 

" Heavens ! " she said, " is there not a man 
— a comrade — who will replace you ? Others 
have means. Oh, how I would love him ! " 

" It could all be done as you say," assented 
Eugene, "only to do it we need money — 
and that by to-morrow." 

" Well," cried Christine, " I'll give all I 
have — my gold cross, my earrings, my neck- 
handkerchiefs, my lace collars, all my jewel- 
lery—to whoever will go in your place." 

" All that would not make the price of a 
man," replied Eugfene, 

Christine reflected for a while, and then, 
seizing her brother's arm, said : — 

" But I — I am worth a man — more than a 
man ; I am sure I am ! I'll give myself ; I'll 
say to someone : i Go instead of my brother, 
and I'll be your wife ! See ! I'm good- 
looking — a little over-petted, but that's no 
harm. I'll love you so dearly, if you save 
my brother! — I swear it on the gold cross 
in which there is a lock of my mother's white 
hair ! I'll cheerfully marry whoever will 
devote himself for you.'" 

"Good sister, I know you would do all 
you say, but you are over-excited to-night, 
and do not see how utterly impracticable are 
all your dear follies. Let us get away from 
here," he added, laughingly, " for if you go 
on, I shall really become afraid of the 
precipice before us." 

I could not catch what Christine -said in 
reply, and presently I lost sight of all three 
in the shadow of the trees ; but both my 
head and my heart remained filled with the 
charming girl, and I became lost in thought. 

That evening, as they were seated at their 
supper without being able to eat a morsel, 
and gazing at each other through their tears, 
somebody knocked loudly at the door. 

" Come in ! " cried the young man, hastily 
drying his eyes. 

An old sergeant appeared before them and 
said : — 

" Good evening ! Does the conscript 

Eu ?%fe'MMcHI6AN 




" Yes, sergeant," 

"That's for you, then," said the trooper, 
throwing a letter on the table* 

Eugfene read at first slowly, then devouring 
the contents, It was a release in form ! 

He looked up at the old soldier in bewilder- 

" It says that you have been replaced, 
conscript — that's all. But I can't congratulate 
you — because a little gunpowder would have 
made your moustache sprout, Different 
people, different tastes — if you are satisfied, 
all's said. Good evening to you," 

He had turned to go, but stopped suddenly 
and cried : — 

"Thousand bullets ! 1 was forgetting half 
my errand Vuu have a sister — Marn'zclle 
Christine — where is she ? " 

"Here, sergeant," said Eugfene, indicating 
Christine, pale with happiness and surprise, 

u This is for you, mamzelle," and he threw 
a second letter on the table. 

" You'll drink a glass of wine, soldier ? " 
asked Eugtme. 

" With all my heart, conscript." 

While Eugene was preparing to ask the 

old soldier a number of questions, 
Louise, out of her senses w r ith joy, 
kissed her betrothed again and 
again, half crying, half laughing, 
while placing fresh bottles on the 
table and filling the glasses, 

Agitated, trembling, Christine 
sat, holding the letter and looking 
fixedly at the table. 

"What is the matter?" asked 
Eugfene, anxiously. "It is that 
letter distresses you? Who has 
written to you? Let me see it, 

He hastily read the letter, which 
he had taken from her unresisting 

" Read it aloud," she said ; " it 
is all the same to me— all the 
same ! " 

Eugfene read out the letter : — 

H Mademoiselle, I demand 
nothing, I go without making any 
condition, I replace your brother ; 
you have need of him, no one 
has any need of me. But I love 
you — have loved you ever since 
I saw your tears. I send you a 
ring which belonged to my 
mother. If you feel pity for me, 
you will take the cross containing 
a lock of your mother's white 
hair, which shone on your neck 
evening in the light of the moon, 
place it in a crack in the side of the 

great yew-tree, 


up, near the branches, 
To-morrow morning I will go for it You 
will wait for me two years, and, if I am not 
dead, I will bring it back to you. Will you 
remember that you have made an oath on 
that cross? Adieu ! n 

" What does this mean ? How could any- 
body know ? " said Eugfene, slowly. " Do 
you understand this, sergeant ? " 

11 Oh ! a vedette near you ? Bah ! I 
have it! it comes from a novice— a youth 
who knows how to write, but for want of 
practice, doesn't know how to tell a woman 
just what he means/' replied the sergeant, 
Eugene shook his head. 
"Your hand, soldier," he said; "111 not 
accept this substitute —my Sister shall not be 
sacrificed ; I'll go with you. JJ 

And taking up his release he was about 
to tear it, when Christine stayed his hand. 

" But if I wish it ! " she said. " He has 
acted nobly, He is going away uncondi- 

^n^wwhi&It no other 



means of keeping him — and — and I wish to 
love him ! For the rest, he has done well 
not to show himself — perhaps I might too 
much have regretted it. I will take my 
cross, as he directs; but I should like to 
know — Sergeant, have you seen him ? " 

" Yes, I've set eyes on him." 

11 Well, he's not hunch-backed or bandy- 
legged, is he ? " 

" Thousand thunders ! Hunch-backs and 
bandy-legs in the French army ! " cried the 
sergeant, scandalized. 

" Is he a good fellow ? * asked Eugfene. 

" That I can answer for," replied the old 
soldier, heartily. 

" Well, then," said Christine, detaching her 
cross with its black ribbon from her pretty 
neck, " tell him that what he has done was well 
done ; and, yourself, put this cross in the side 
of the great yew-tree. Do not tell him any- 
thing about it : but do not lose sight of him, 
and try and return with him ; he is worthy of 
you — he has begun as a brave man, and he 
will continue as a brave Frenchman." 

Eugfene and Louise gazed at her without 
being able to speak. The grenadier rose, 
and received the cross, while tears sparkled 
in his eyes. 

Christine then turned towards her brother 
and future sister. She was no longer the 
same: her character had suddenly become 
serious. She said to Louise : — 

" I, too, am betrothed ; my pledge is in 
the hands of a soldier of the guard." 

Next morning, on setting off, my knapsack 
on my back, I found the cross hidden in the 
side of the yew-tree — and I fancied I saw 
amid the close-grown branches the uniform 
and red epaulettes of a sergeant of the guard 
who was watching me. 


A year later, the campaign of Saxony was 
finished: the campaign of France was going 
to begin. Eugene was married to Louise. 
The terrible requisition reached him as well 
as others, but this time he was not kept 
back. It was foreseen that the anxiety 
would not be of long duration ; and then it 
was so clearly evident that the defence of 
France was necessary; lads ran away from 
their colleges to get to the frontier, and it 
would have been shameful in any man who, 
in default of a sword, had not seized up his 
ploughshare, shameful in the woman who 
still hung upon the arm of that man. 

Eugfcne went this time, and joined the 
army in Champagne. At the bridge of 
Montereau, after having long fought at the 

outposts, he found himself without cartridges, 
and was defending himself as well as he 
could with his "short infantry sabre against 
five Austrian grenadiers, when a lieutenant 
of carabineers sprang before him, crying : — 

"Conscript, go and find your sister and 
your wife; leave those to die who have 
nothing to live for ! " 

And the lieutenant cut down two white- 
coats with his long sabre. But his horse 
received a bayonet stab and fell under him. 
He received two others and fell also. A 
French fusillade laid low the three men of 
the enemy ; and Eugfene, who had sprung to 
the body of his rescuer, carried him to a 
neighbouring house and brought him back 
to life. 

The soldier and the officer became friends 
and brothers in arms ; but the soldier could 
not understand the devotion of the officer, 
nor the sense of the words that had accom- 
panied it. He was but the more proud, the 
more fascinated ; and then, the officer was so 
fond of him and spoke to him so kindly, 
that he was wholly at a loss how to^repay so 
much goodness. When, at the end of the 
drama, the armies were disbanded, he said 
to him : — 

" Lieutenant, if you have neither father, 
children, nor family — if you are alone in the 
world — come to my home. I am only a 
workman, but my people will be very fond of 
you. I have a good wife and a pretty sister 
— you hear what I am saying, Monsieur 
Charles ? You will not disdain my family, 
even if you do not consent to make part of 
it ? At least you will not deny me the 
pleasure of showing them my preserver." 

The lieutenant could only throw himself 
on Eugene's neck and thank him warmly. A 
week afterwards, Eugfene, stifled in the 
embraces of Louise and Christine, tore him- 
self free from their arms and, pointing to the 
friend he had brought home with him, 

" Here is a brave man who saved my life 
without knowing me, and exposed his own 
because he had no family to weep for his 
death ; but now he has one ! He is my 
brother ; he has said that he will not disdain 
my home — let it be his ! We will work 
tdgether, and, some day, perhaps, we shall 
be rich and my house more worthy of a 

"A lieutenant!" cried Christine, involun- 

" Sister," whispered Eugfene, " this one is 
worth more than the other." 

Ch M?iRfV«idffe^r and looked 



furtively at the officer. He was not ilMook- 
ing ; his epaulettes, his wounds received for 
a dear brother, and, above all, his determined 
efforts to please Christine and prove to 
Eug&ne that he did not despise his family, 
resulted, at the end of two months, in causing 
her to appear t hough tful, while blushes 
suffused her checks in answer to the ex- 
pressive looks of Charles ; at which signs 
Eugene smiled. 

One day he took his friend and his sister 

" I am very happy," he said " You love 
my sister, Charles ? " 

** I love her," replied the lieutenant, gazing 
on Christine, pleadingly* 

" Do you love him, sister ? " 


" More than you love me ? " 

11 In a different way," she answered, simply. 

Imagine my delight, monsieur ! for I was 
the lieutenant I who 
had repented of having 
engaged the young girl's 
promise, and had wished 
to die, so as to release 
her from it. I who longed 
to win her free and volun- 
tary love ! I fell on my 
knees before her, 

"Will you be his wife, 
Christine?" asked 

11 No," she replied, 
sadly, but firmly ; M no, I 
have given my promise to 
another. I am betrothed." 

" Folly!" cried Eugfene, 
" Betrothed !— to a man 
you have never even seen 
—who asks nothing of 
you — who is ugly, per- 
haps, and as old as I 
am ?— a man, in short, 
who has never cared to 
show himself, and who 
by this time is dead, no 
doubt ! " 

" Dead ! If so, he died 
for you, Eugkne, Have 
you forgotten the year of 
happiness you owe to 
him, of which I am the 
price? The bargain is 
sacred. If he is dead, the pledge returns to 
me, and I will wear mourning for him as for 
a husband* If he is not dead, I will wait" 

" But have not the two ytars passed ? " 

" Though that may be, I will still wait for 

N0 t stic, i'm not pead!" 

him who, poor and friendless, trusted in my 
promise, Oh, no, let him come; let him 
return me my gold cross — and, if he pleases t 
set me free ! " 

Eugbne was losing patience, but I restrained 
him by a gesture. I was still kneeling at 
Christine's feet 

"Christine, Eugfene," I said, "it is time 
that you should know all It was I, my 
friend, who replaced you ; I who, hidden 
in the great yew-tree, overhear^ your tearful 
parting ; I who accepted Christine's pledge ; 
I who love her and who ask her, on my 
knees, to restore to me my mother's ring," 

" You ! you ! " they both cried at once. 
Christine had already drawn from her bosom 
the ring and the letter inclosing it; but 
suddenly she paused. 

" Do not deceive me," she cried. " Can it 

be possible ? Ah, you have agreed together, 

you and my brother ! He has told you the 

secret ! Where is my gold 

cross ? " 

" What ! » I exclaimed, 
" do you refuse to believe 
me ? Is not my voice that 
of truth ? — my soldier's 
word ? J1 

" The cross ! the 
cross ! " she repeated, 

"I have it not," I 
replied, sadly. " 1 have 
it no more ! It was the 

old sergeant " 

"Where Is he? "asked 

" He is dead — he died 
at Leipsic," I replied, 

"No — thousand thun- 
ders ! — I'm not dead/' 
cried a voice behind us ; 
"and I've arrived just in 
the nick of time, or I'm 
a Prussian t Lieutenant, 
don't you recognise 

" What ! you are still 
living ? " I cried, throwing 
my arms about him. 

11 As you can see for 
yourself I I've come 
from the hospitals at 
Leipsic; but while I've 
been grunting there— thousand bombshells ! 
— changes have been going on, it seems. 
The Little Corporal — but enough of that for 
the present ; we/ll talk about it some other 
tifchHJVE^WCi^K^fefttio deal with is 



Monsieur Charles's affair. Look at him, 
mam'zelle — though he had not courage to 
speak to you under his Jesuit's cassock, he 
knew how to fight under his tonsure, i saw 
him slip your cross out of the old yew-tree, 
kiss it, and put it under his uniform — where I 
have mine now ; but that's not the same 
thing. I followed him everywhere. He went 
under fire — thousand cartridges ! — as if he 
were entering a ball-room ! At Dresden, 
owing to his education and his dare-devilry, 
he was made a sub-lieutenant, At Lei p sic, 
in a tussle on the bridge, I saw him dash 
right upon the crowd of white-coats, and I 
said to myself: 'What is he about? Docs 
he want to get himself wiped off the roll? * 
Then I took the liberty of laying hold of the 
tail of his coat, and saying to him : 
( Lieutenant, are you forgetting that you have 
a pledge to return to somebody — down 
yonder ? ' 

"That told him that I knew all about the 

to France — they have need of one 
another ! ' I wished to take an oath j but, 
bah ! he was gone. As for myself, I got 
jammed between a gun-carriage and the 
parapet of the bridge ; and that laid me up 
in bed for eleven months, with a dozen 
poultices to keep me company. But here I 
am, at last, and— no disreqwet to my lieu- 
tenant- — I find him still a bit of a conscript 
where women are in the case." 

11 How could I win her trust in me?" I 
said, looking beseechingly at Christine. 

" Forgive me," she cried, throwing herself 
into my arms ; " forgive me for having been 
too faithful to you ! I will love you twice as 

"The cross! the cross!" cried Eugfene, 
mimicking her voice, 

" Here it is ! " replied the old sergeant, 

Christine took it with transport, and, 
holding it, between our kisses said to me : — 


business, and he said to me : ' I've seen you 
somewhere— yes, I remember. Here is the 
pledge you speak of. Take it to Croissey ; 
it weighs on my conscience. I have no 
friends, and I would not tempt fate by buy- 
ing a wife — I leave that to the Turks. To 
give her back her liberty I am going 
to get myself killed. Fly ! Save your- 
self ! Let the old moustaches return 

** May it render them sacred ! n 

We are now old married people. The 
sergeant died at Waterloo, Eugene and I 
have prospered by labour : we conduct the 

manufactures of M. de V ; we live in 

the little white and rose coloured house you 
see in the midst of the foliage of the island 
yonder, and every evening I come to smoke 
my piftlffl^fft §pffin|^ 

Wonderland in America, 

By Mrs. Fenwick Miller, 

HERE is a corner of the 
earth— only a corner, though 
it is some sixty square miles 
in extent — where Nature 
seems to have resolved to 
leave for our inspection a 
sample of the way in which our globe was 
made into the world in which we have to 
live to-day. Moreover, this show of her 
marvellous methods might have been 
organized by the late Mr. Barnum, so 
well is it laid out to keep up the interest 
of the visitor, and to show him ever new and 
constantly greater marvels. This is Nature's 
own arrangement, and not the artfulness of 
the surveyors who made the forest clearings 
that they are pleased to rail roads. Geo- 
graphically inevitable is it that one finds 
increasing marvels as one goes on, till the 
wonders of the beginning are presently looked 
back upon as comparatively small matters. 
But in memory the whole fuses into one 
gigantic Wonderland. 

It is called "Yellowstone Park," from the 
chief river that flows through it, and after- 
wards passes down to fall into the great 
Missouri* This river was named the " Yel- 
lowstone, )J from the singular colour of the 
clay that washes down with it and stains its 
waters, and when the Wonderland was visited 
first, the explorers kept along the river's bed 

for their guide, and named the whole region 
after it. 

That first formal exploration took place 
only a matter of some twenty years ago. A 
few trappers had previously penetrated these 
recesses, and returned to tell tales that 
were jeered at by the incredulous hearers. 
But it was not till 1870 that the first 
exploring party, headed by the Surveyor- 
General of Montana, went through and 
prepared a formal report of its marvels. 
The Park is situated in the extreme north- 
west corner of Wyoming, and is at *o high 
an altitude that the climate is bitterly cold 
during most of the year, so that the land 
can never be cultivated* As it could not 
be utilized in that way, the United States 
Government resolved, 011 the report of the 
Surveyor, to reserve it for show purposes, and 
it was forthwith declared national property. 
Rules were made for its protection, and a party 
of cavalry was detailed to police it permanently* 
Moreover, the Government proceeded to 
make more or less effective roads through it, 
and it can now be visited with both safety and 
Comfort. It is nearly four days 1 journey from 
New York— three days* from Chicago — but 
there are dining-cars and sleeping-cars on the 
two excellently managed railways over which 
the journey is made direct, the Wisconsin 
Central from Chicago to St Paul, and the 

,.-_ — — — _ 

JW-iy, ' b00 ^ , '" SFm ""Diversity of 

V 9 |, viji 


| f^Jd^rapfc 



Northern Pacific from there to the beginning 
of the Park ; and in the Park itself there is a 
company which provides coaches and hotels, 
and which takes possession of the traveller, 
and conveys him from stage to stage of the 

The first item on the programme is 
remarkahle enough* In a wide valley, sur~ 
rounded on every hand by tall and distant 
mountains, one comes upon a space of 
several acres covered by what at first sight 
seems to be a collection of low cliffs or rocks 
of chalk, shining brilliantly white under the 
fierce sun of the land. But the singular 
forms of these rocks demand closer inspec- 
tion ; for they are arranged as a series of ter- 
races, rising one above another like wide steps 
in some places, 
while in others it 
is as though the 
waves of a mighty 
sea had been sud- 
denly petrified, 
and only a few 
runlets of foam 
had trickled over 
before being 
fro/en in place as 
they dropped, On 
making one's way 
up to and over 
them, one finds 
that the rocks are 
not so solid and 
hard as chalk, but 
are softer and 
more friable, and 
also that in many 

parts they are being soaked with water that 
slowly trickles down from the top of the 
whole "formation." Pursuing the flow of 
moisture on to its source, one comes, 
at the summit of each particular " forma- 
tion," to a more or less large pool, 
constantly overflowing, because constantly 
replenished from the spring beneath ; 
and the cloud of vapour that lingers over 
its whole surface, no less than the curious 
varieties of colours that surround the edges 
and tell of chemical deposits makes us aware 
that this is no common pool How should 
it be so, situated so strangely on the summit 
of a rock ? It is, in fact, a large hot spring 
—not quite boiling, but so hot that, like the 
clever child who put down the red-hot poker 
without waiting to be told, the venturous 
visitor pulls out promptly the testing finger 
that he inevitably inserts, Yes, these are hot 
springs ; and they have made all the rocks 

or "formations" that you see. The water 
rises from the earth at nearly boiling point, 
and thus, holding in solution a great deal of 
lime and other chemical matter, which is 
deposited as the water cools in the air, 
forms the curious rock -like shapes and 
terraces that are all around. 

The whole covers over 1 70 acres, and there 
are thirteen distinct terraces. One that 
particularly impressed me was a ridge 
nicknamed " The Elephant's Back," scarce 
wider than the summit of Jumbo's person, 
and about thirty feet long. There are 
about a hundred little openings along 
this ridge of rock, out of each of which 
a tiny but fierce spurt of boiling water 
is violently thrusting itself in a furious 


I Pholoffrmpk, 

effort to get free and out to the light, 
the water from each spreading over the 
surface already made, and there depositing 
more and ever more of the lime that itself 
serves to obstruct the further passage of the 
water that holds it, by depositing it for build- 
ing up the terrace. Here for the first time I 
felt the sensation — afterwards renewed more 
strongly in other parts of the region— that 
the wild struggle of a mighty force to over- 
come a resistance made the ground unsafe 
beneath my feet — that it was only a question 
of time when a great convulsion must occur, 
and that that time might be now — in short, 
the comfortable conviction of standing on 
solid earth is seriously disturbed under such 
conditions, and a respectful uncertainty takes 
its place. Science has taught me before now 
that I live on a crust of soil over mighty subter- 
ranean fires and fierce. internal commotions; 
but I have bQllflWftft^f^iWh^re the crust was 



thick, and have not realised the solemnity of 
the truth. Here, the crust is a shell t and is 
pierced often enough to give a glimpse of the 
interior, It is disquieting to peep like this 
behind the merciful veil that covers in 
Nature's mysterious and awful processes; 
and worse is to come* 

Some twenty two miles farther on is the 
first of the geyser valleys or basins. It is 
reached by a road that is for the most part a 
monotonous pas- 
sage through 
rows of tall and 
gloomy pine 
trees, but that 
has its diversities 
to prevent the 
traveller getting 
dull There is a 
wonderful piece 
of road-making, 
to begin with, 
where the Go- 
vernment spent 
£S5°° m in blast- 
ing a single mile 
of road out of 
the solid rock. 
They have left a 
tall splinter of 
the rock at one 
end, in order to 
show where the 
whole was at one 
time, and this is 
called the 
"Golden Gate," 
because the face 
of that tall cliff 
is all lined and 
streaked with 
yellow as though 
it were the quartz 
of gold. 

At last, after a 
drive of nearly 
four hours from 
the Mammoth 
Hot Springs, we 
reach the first 

geysers. It is a singular scene, Imagine 
a large field, fringed by a row of stunted 
and half-dead pines, the ground consisting 
of a dull white rock, and all over its surface, 
at frequent points, puffs of steam rising as 
though from the mouths of chimneys belong- 
ing to subterranean engines. As you look, 
suddenly a stream of water rises high in the 
air from a spot in the midst of the fi^ld, k 

lasts for some twenty seconds, and then dis- 
appears, but while yet you are gazing at 
the spot it darts up again, only to vanish 
once more as soon as before. This is the 
11 Minute Geyser," that goes off as regularly 
every sixty seconds as though the subter- 
ranean engineer in charge were provided 
with a chronometer of excellent construction. 
The pool from which this eruption takes 
place is twenty-four feet in diameter, and the 

water is thrown 
some forty feet 
in the air. 

This is almost 
certain to be the 
first geyser that 
the visitor sees, 
and for that 
reason the im- 
pression that it 
makes is strong. 
But it is by com- 
parison with 
many others an 
insignificant one. 
There are fifty or 
more geysers at 
different points 
in the Park — in 
most cases a 
cluster of them is 
found together 
though there are 
a few solitary 
ones — and 
amongst these 
there are all pos- 
sihle differences. 
Size, shape, time 
of going off, man- 
ner of perform- 
ing, are different 
in each case. 
Some act with 
clockwork regu- 
larity ; others 
have only been 
seen at work by 
dint of long-con- 
tinued watching. 
Amongst the regular performers there is 
every possible variation as to the time of 
repose that they require, I hardly know 
which is the more surprising fact — that such 
convulsions should be regular or that they 
should be erratic ; but certainly either is 
extremely astonishing to contemplate, 

Near tojh.e . 4t Mi.nute " is one more im- 
pressive inQSftfra. ™¥$u look down into a 




large hole, some twenty or twenty-two feet in 
circumference ; the interior and all round the 
edges is lined by a black, rocky "formation," 
from which the geyser is named the " Devil's 
Inkpot"; his Satanic Majesty, traditionally 
having the management of subterranean fires, 
naturally plays a considerable part in the 
nomenclature of this region. The water in 
the depths of the hole, however, is not black 
as ink, but only like soapsuds in a laundress's 
tub, a dirty bluish white. As you stand and 
watch, the water is gradually and quietly 
rising in the hole before you ; slowly it mounts 
till the pit is full to the brim* 

Then with startling suddenness there is a 

minutes the whole performance will be 

But perhaps even more awe-inspiring than 
the geysers are those spots where steam 
escapes continuously and violently from a 
cleft in the earth, and as you stand beside it, 
terrible noises incessantly going on beneath 
your feet warn you of the struggle that the 
imprisoned power is waging against the 
superincumbent earth. To see so compara- 
tively little and to hear so much impresses 
the imagination even more than the visible 
escape of the force. Not far from the 
11 Inkpot " there is such an escape valve of a 
mighty invisible engine. Through a narrow 

From a] 

** devil's inkpot." 

I PkotoffrarJir 

leap in its centre— a pause, and then a series 
of jumps like violent boiling; and then the 
whole volume of water springs fiercely in the 
air with a hissing noise, and a cloud of hot 
steam around it, while all around the edges 
waves wash far out of the pool, flooding over 
the black lt formation " that they, in fact, 
have deposited on previous occasions. This 
wild outburst lasts some five minutes, and 
then, all at once, the central commotion stops, 
and the water runs away down into the hole, 
exactly as though a gigantic mouth beneath 
were sucking it in. A dozen of those wild 
aspirations of the unseen drinker, and behold! 
the water has sunk down into the hole so 
far that only by leaning over can you catch 
a distant glimpse of its sullen, gleaming sur- 
face in the depths of the pit + Vet in twenty 

slit torn in the earth the "Black Growler" 
pushes high into the air, without ceasing for 
an instant, a cloud of boiling hot steam, the 
hissing with which it is ejected being only 
an accompaniment to the horrid noises of 
rumbling and howling and growling that are 
making the earth under you shiver. Vet, so 
cold is the region where these exhibitions of 
the power of heat are going on, that when I 
was there, on June 19th, the bank of earth 
and "formation" that backs the *' Growler " 
still had upon it a snow-drift some three feet 
thick, and the road in many parts was flanked 
by snow heaps, These, by the way, formed 
a great object of interest to two Californian 
men who were on the same coach with me. 
Born and brought up in that happy " Garden 
State," they had only seen snow falling two or 




three times in their lives, and had never seen 
it lying on the ground. They ran about in it 
and played snow-ball with each other with 
great glee. 

That the danger of being amidst such 
convulsions of Nature in the Yellowstone is 
not only a matter of imagination is proved 
by what is to be seen a short distance off 
from the " Growler/' just through the belt 
of trees, viz., the ** New Crater," which 
suddenly burst 
forth from a 
previously placid 
spot only three 
years ago. Huge 
blocks of stone 
and rock were 
flung forth with 
mighty force, and 
lie about in con- 
fusion, as though 
Titans had 
fought with mis- 
siles there ; and 
the torn and rent 
earth, not yet 
covered up and 
concealed by the 
deposit of *' for- 
mation," as it 
will be centuries 
hence, shows 
that there is 
some risk atten- 
dant on being 
amidst such 

The multitude 
of boiling pools, 
the varieties of 
41 format! on " 
around them— 
according to the 
chemical ele- 
ment that pre- 
dominates in the 
water — t he 
various colours 
of the water 
dependent on 

the same cause, and the odours that many 
of the hot springs emit, make up a startlingly 
interesting scene. Yet this geyser basin sinks 
into insignificance after one has seen the 
more varied and splendid displays of more 
distant parts of the region. 

A drive of some twenty miles more, passing 
on the way numerous hot springs, skirting a 
river that at one point develops a beautiful 

f uut a J 


fall, over mountain passes, and through forests 
of pine, and we arrive at the next great 
geyser valley or basin. It is some thirty 
square miles in extent, and contains seven- 
teen geysers and about seven hundred boiling 
springs, The principal geyser there is the 
%i Fountain/* which springs from an opening 
thirty feet in diameter, and plays irregularly, 
every two to four hours. 

This is one of the quietest and most 

pleasing of the 
geysers. Like a 
tamed tiger, 
it may be per- 
haps a dangerous 
plaything, but it 
conceals its 
power of ferocity 
and only reveals 
its strength as 
supple beauty. 
The main body 
of the water only 
rises about 
fifteen feet, so 
as not to alarm 
you, but beauty 
is secured at the 
same time by the 
constant flinging 
up of fine jets 
to some sixty 
feet ; the effect 
is light and 
beautiful » as the 
sunshine catches 
the dancing jets 
and the spray 
and light steam- 
clouds above the 
mass of rising 

Ten miles 
farther on again 
is the chief 
geyser basin, the 
valley where the 
Largest number 
of the geysers 
and the most 
powerful and most regularly acting pheno- 
mena are found. It is a singular spot— a 
large bare field about a mile long and half a 
mile wide, with a river running through its 
midst, its surface irregularly dotted with 
the strangely-shaped cones and " formations " 
of the numerous geysers, and eternal clouds 
of ^team hovering over it, 

^rtrasn* wrarcrfisEN no fewer tb ^ 

1/ 'iutluynntk. 



seventeen are large and important enough to 
be worth naming and describing separately , 
but of course no visiter sees them all, for 
some act only at long intervals, such as the 
** Giantess/' which takes fourteen days 1 repose 
after performing; and others are utterly 
irregular and spasmodic in their habits. 
But on the other hand, here is situated one 
of the most beautiful of its kind, which is so 
good as to play with perfect regularity. 

Every sixty-five minutes, night and day, 
summer and win- 
ter, this fine dis- 
play is given. The 
water slowly rises 
in the open throat 
of the deep cleft 
in the rock ; and 

that only as the wind stirs them can you see 
through them, a rush of water all around, 
and at the centre the strong, fierce dash of 
wide column after column of water out of 
each hole, meeting in the centre over the tall 
pillar, grappling above it, each stream thrown 
foaming over it to seek refuge in the other 
side, and then flung back by striking 
against the rival outrush from the other 
side, the water flung twenty feet high, and 
the spray of the wild contest far higher, 

when it is nearly 

full, suddenly the 

fountain is flung 

high into the air, 

a full, bright, shim- 

mering stream 

rising to a height 

of one hundred 

and twenty-five feet 

or more, the main 

body of it being 

two feet in diame- lwfia«*^^_ 

ter, though the *'mw*ni 

steam that floats 

up makes it look far higher, and that which 

is blown around gives added width beyond 

the actual water. 

So great is the force with which this geyser 
rushes up that there is none of the jumping 
effect of a fountain; the tall column of water 
seems to stand stationary in the air for the 
full period of four minutes, and then, with 
only two or three gasps of hesitation, it falls 
down altogether. It is a truly glorious sight. 
The unworthy name given to this brilliant 
and powerful performer is "Old Faithful/ 1 
in allusion to its regularity of action. 

But to me the most impressive and awe- 
inspiring of all the geysers that I saw was 
the "Grotto." Its "formation" or cone 
has a singular shape — two rocky caves such 
as one might seek a witch within, and a tall 
central column standing up isolated between 
the two openings, like a stone for sacrifice— an 
unholy altar. As you pass it when it is in 
repose, there is no trace of what it is ; no 
water around, no steam, but just the deep, 
dark, mysterious holes and the tall, suggestive 
pillar, Then to return to it, and to find it all 
a scene of wild commotion, violent hissing, 
jmd roaring sounds, clouds of steam so thick 


: l hot* •>■■>(, A 

is like watching a combat of Titans : 
it brings confused but vivid fancies of 
all that has gone to make the earth, the days 
when such combats and terrors of Nature 
were at work all over the round globe ; and 
one holds one's breath in presence of such 
overwhelming, uncontrollable force, 

I have done with the geysers now ; but 
before we travel away, some reader may care 
to be told what is the theory of science as 
to their method of action, In the first place, 
it is clear that either the crust of the earth 
is here thinner above the heated interior, 
or, what is another way of stating the same 
idea, the heated rocks of the centre of the 
globe are there nearer the surface than in 
most places. To them descends the water of 
the rains and the melting snows. It gathers 
their heat, it forms steam. This steam gets 
into the tube which some previous explosion 
of steam has formed and which has since 
naturally become a gathering -place for the 
lateral drainage of the earth. 

Most people know that the boiling point 
of water differs at various elevations, owing 
to the different pressure of the air, which is 
heavier at the bo* to;!: oi the ocean of air in 




which we live than it is on mountains, and 
grows progressively lighter or heavier as we 
ascend or descend in altitude. Very well : 
the steam generated far below, seeking an 

From, a] 


[ riwti>ffMt*k. 

outlet, gradually ascends the geyser tube 
under the surface of the earth, and pushes 
up the hot water in the iu1.kj above it, till the 
water is raised to that level in the tube where 
the air pressure is reduced enough to make it 
boil at the heat which it possesses. Then 
it boils suddenly, and so produces a tre- 
mendous new pressure of steam at that (joint, 
which, in its effort to escape, flings all the 
water above it out of the hole, and keeps 
doing so till the steam of the interior is 
exhausted, when there is a pause until it is 
again generated, and the process is repeated. 
After leaving this last of the great geyser 
basins, the Yellowstone traveller goes on to a 
lake, a pretty one, but dependent for exciting 
interest in those who have seen the Swiss and 
English lakes on the rather poor grounds 
that it is the highest lake in America, and 
that, though its waters are cold, there are 
hot springs in such close proximity that a 
fisherman can catch a fish in the lake, 
and without moving from his standing- 
place can turn round on his own axis 
and boil that fish in a hot pool, which will 
prepare it for eating in fifteen minutes. Hot 
springs have by this time, however, become 
so commonplace to us that we are rather 

surprised, and perhaps a little injured, to find 
any water that is cold. 

Eighteen miles more, and we arrive at the 
last and not the least interesting feature of 

this remarkable 
excursion. It is 
a deep, long 
gorge, ravine, or, 
as they call it 
here, " canyon," 
that is unsur- 
passed for mag- 
nificence. It is 
some twelve to 
fifteen hundred 
feet deep, and 
the soft stone of 
which the sides 
are composed is 
worn into a thou- 
sand fantastic 
shapes. Here it 
is turreted and 
pinnacled like a 
Gothic temple, 
there rounded 
into the semblance of an ancient 
castle, or sculptured like a huge Egyptian 
statue against the face of the rocks. The 
Yellowstone River runs through the gorge, 
and looking along it one sees the spot at its 
entrance where the river plunges over a 
central layer of rock in a great cataract three 
hundred and sixty feet high — more than 
twice the height of Niagara Kails, but much 
narrower. But the true marvel and attraction 
of the great canyon is the wondrous, the 
incredible colouring of the rocks. It is 
more like a sunset spread at one's feet than 
anything else to which I can compare it. 
There are tracks of creamy white ; layers of 
palest yellow shading through all tints to the 
deepest orange ; reds and browns of all 
tones* These hues are mixed and mingled 
amongst the fantastic shapes, so that one 
hardly knows whether to be silent in amaze- 
ment or to smile at the bizarre and unnatural 
spectacle, so like a showman's arrangement. 
But it is too huge and too mighty and too 
essentially grand to be smiled at; and one 
tears oneself reluctantly from the dizzy 
height at last, feeling, like the Queen of 
Sheha about Solomon's glory, that "the half 
cannot be toldJ' 

by Google 

Original from 

Favourite Books of Childhood. 

By Frances H. Low. 

* '"^^X 

HE following paper is mainly 
concerned with a sketch of 
children's books from early 
days, and a comparison of the 
stones in favour with children 
of to-day with those of pre- 
ceding generations. The difficulty of finding 
out what boys read thirty, forty, and 
fifty years ago has been solved in the happiest 
manner by the graceful courtesy and co- 
operation of a group of distinguished living 
men, whose personal reminiscences will give 
a great fund of innccent pleasure and delight 
to all those who admire greatness, whether 
in statesmanship, literature, or science. 

Story-books written especially for children 
are of comparatively modern growth, the first 
systematic attempt at supplying juvenile 
literature having been made in 1765 by 
Newberry, the publisher m St Paul's Church- 
yard, of whom Leigh Hunt speaks with 
affection as being "the most illustrious 
bookseller of our boyish days, his little penny 
books being radiant with gold and rich with 
bad pictures," 

But if children's books were unknown in 
the earlier days of English national life, it is 
not to be concluded that the little people 
were without rhyme and romance about 
which to delight, and dream. Legends, 
the common inheritance of every race 
and nation, ballads, fables — there was 
the ever ingenious "yftsop/* as well 
others — were told and retold, 
down by tradition until they 





eventually printed ; and in the chap-books 
of the 17th century most of the old-time 
nursery rhymes and legends are to he 
found. These entered every farm-house and 
cottage, and naturally came into the hands 
of the children. 

Steele, in the Tatfar, speaks of a little boy 
of eight years, who frankly declared he did 
not care much for " yiisop's Fables," because 
he did not believe they were true, but who 
was much better pleased with the lives and 
adventures of " Don Belliani of Greece," 
"Guy of Warwick,' "The Seven Champions 
of Christendom, " and other historians of that 
age, " Guy of Warwick " was a popular hero 
with boyhood, and no wonder. His 
adventures and prowess out -hero Baron 
Munchausen's, and on one occasion he is set 

upon by sixteen assassins, whom he overcomes, 
slaying en passant bears, monsters, dragons, 
and the like. 

The valiant "Jack the Giant-Killer," the 
complacent, boastful little " Jack Horner," 
"Tom Thumb," and many another nursery 
hero, were familiar and beloved personages to 
17th century children through these odd little 
chap-books. Some of these chap-books — 
written with an eye to edify, or, as it would 
seem to us, to terrify, the small folk— are very 
curious reading. 

By way of compensation, the 17th century 
child had one book that has ever had 
a perennial charm for generations of child- 
ren, as well as for their elders ; and the 
allegory, imagery, and poetry of which have 
imprinted spiritual truths upon immature 
minds with an ineffaceable stamp. I mean, 
of course, the "Pilgrim's Progress." It is 
ill no way necessary here to point out the 
qualities of this beautiful tale that strike a 
child's fancy and captivate his imagination, 
whilst at the same time interesting, satisfying, 
and delighting the sage and philosopher. 

About this book, and the masterpiece of 
Defoe, which appeared a little later, in the 
early part of the 18th century, there is a 
remark to be made. The head masters of some 
of the London and country public schools 
have kindly aided me in discovering what 
books are most popular with modern school- 
boys, by having an inquiry made upon this 
point. The boys examined for the most part 
belong to the middle and upper middle rank, 
and their sincere, undraped confessions are in- 
structive as well as (to me, at least) astonishing. 
Three hundred of these lists lie before me, 
and in only five of their number does the 
name of Banyan's wondrous legend occur at 
all It is the same with the girls. The 
head mistress of a large school for girls in 
the north of London kindly permitted a 
similar inquisition, with the result that only 
two little girls out of one hundred and fifty 
gave in their allegiance to the " Pilgrims 

But if I turn to the roll-call of stirring 
names contributed by the older men, I find 
that the w Pilgrims Progress ft has frequently, 
if not invariably, a place of glory, Mr. 
Gladstone, .-Mr,. W ( JE. Lecky, Mr. Walter 
Besant Prof, Dowden (who says. " I had a 




Photo- hv LcmJfln Stereoscopic Co, 

good deal of the 'Pilgrim's Progress* by 
heart before I was eight "), Mr. Leslie 
Stephen, all read the book closely, and loved 
it dearly in " the bright, untroubled days of 

The second point is still more curious* 
Should we not 
expect" the im- 
mortal ^Robin- 
son Crusoe " to 
figure in every 
literary calendar 
drawn up by 
schoolboys ? 
But that there 
is a vast propor- 
tion of modern 
schoolbovs com- 
pletely in dif- 
ferent to "Robin- 
son n must cer- 
tainly be ad- 
mitted ; for in 
nearly one half 
of the papers 
the book does 
not figure at all Yet what a crowd of illus- 
trious names have repaid their childish debt to 
Defoe by the praise with which they have done 
him homage ! "Was there ever anything written 
by mere man," asked Dr. Johnson, " that 
was wished longer by its reader ? " Coleridge 
philosophizes learnedly about it. John Stuart 
Mill says : " Amongst the few children's books 
I had, l Robinson Crusoe * was pre-eminent, 
and continued to delight me all through my 

Listen to what M. Daudet, the creator of 
Tartarin, the inimitable, says in his letter, 
which is so gay and graceful that I must 
transcribe it here as it stands, it is too 
light and airy to be translatable. 

u Alphonse Daudet, 
auteur des troisTartarins, 
de Jack l'lmmortel, Le 
Nabab, Sappho, Lettres 
de mon Moulin, etc., a 
fait sa pature en fan tine 
dun seul livre : he 
Robinson Crusod Au- 
jourd'hui encore il 
retrouve dans le livre de 
Daniel de Foe ses sensa- 
tions les plus intenses 
de terreur (le pied nu 
stir le sable avec son 
double fantastique du 
pied fourchu de Satan 
et la trace du canni 

Vol, viiU-4& 


les yeux luisants du vieux bone, au 
fond de la caverne, la surprise du per- 
roquet clamant : ' Robinson, mon pauvre 
Robinson ! ') et aussi le charme> comme nulle 
autre part, du home, de la cabin e, du 
renferm^ entour^ d 'horizons in fin is de houles 
voyageuses* Avec le Robinson, ma is bicn 
au dessous, un livre que je n'ai pas relu, AL 
Le Midshipman Ais£ a passionne mon 
enfance en meme temps que Gulliver. Chose 
singuliere, ce sont tous des livres anglais, 
il y a la le mirage du meridionals grandi au 
soleil dans une ville sans eau et revant de 
voyages, d'iles lointaines. Je compte, du 
reste, avant peu, consigner dans un joyeux 
petit livre les premieres a ventures navales 
d'un petit meridional qui n'avait jamais vu la 
mer. Mon livre sera d£di£ a Robinson* 1 ' 

Legion is the name of the admirers of 
Defoe, who has had the happiness of writing 
a story that not only pleased boy critics of 
the next few centuries, but that also estab- 
lished, and always establishes, a kindly tie 
between the reader and the author. It is 
one of the rare books, too, that delight boys 
of the most diverse temperaments, characters, 
tastes, and activities, and that appeal equally 
to the boy Prince and the child of the streets, 
The Prince of Wales writes through Sir 
Francis Knollys that " Robinson Crusoe" 
was the favourite book of his childhood. It 
won the early affection of Mr. John Burns, 
whose tastes in early days seem to have been 
democratic and catholic, for he writes: U I 
was an omnivorous reader when a boy, 

the oddest manner varied the 
Dreadful 5 with Combe's *Constitu- 

Man/ an old tattered copy of 
still have and highly prize," Mr. 

Rossetti, who has given me a 
exceedingly interesting details 
favourite books read by 

and in 
1 Penny 
tion of 
which I 
mass of 
about the 


**^*n^£ 3**- 



t*2**^ ^**l 

Q^iVV. -* /^^ff^^T^^ 





Gabriel Rossetti in his boyhood, says 
his brother "liked * Robinson Crusoe/ 
but it was not a special favourite." Lord 
Wolseley read it with u intense delight,' 1 
as did Professor Huxley and Sir Henry 
Thompson* This proves — what, indeed, 
needs no proof that its fascinating power 
is not only strong over boys with adventurous 
longings, or with a scientific turn of mind — 
not the least enchanting portion of " Robin- 
son Crusoe * is that concerned with the 
manipulating of tools— hut equally also over 
boys in whom the artistic faculty pre- 

Mr. Santley heads his list of favourite books 
with " Robinson Crusoe, 15 whilst it proved no 
less seductive to Mr. Walter Besant, the 
novelist, Mr. Lecky, the historian, and to 
" M;irk Rutherford/' one of the great living 
prose writers. 

To set against the majority, however, 
Professor Dow den makes no mention of 
" Crusoe," but refers to " Masterman Ready " 
and "The Children of the New Forest/' 
which " were a great delight.'* 

Neither Mr. Gladstone, Lord Salisbury, 
nor Mr. Ruskin give it any place of favour 
Mr. Alfred Austin, after remarking that books 
with some literary value from an early age 
aroused in him most emotion, adds, "though, 
as a matter of course, one had one's share of 
traditional delight in 'Robinson Crusoe/" 

It will be seen, then, that though in 
the early part of the 18th century no story- 
books had been written especially for youth- 
ful comprehension, children had no lack of 
precious and enchanting 
volumes j mainly of allegory, 
fable, and adventure, amongst 
which " Gulliver's Travels n 
must not be forgotten. 

About the middle of the 
century, however, it occurred 
to a "philanthropic" publisher 
(so he is strangely called by 
Goldsmith in the " Vicar of 
Wakefield' 1 ), one Newberry, 
of St. Pauls 'Churchyard, to 
bring out a series of juvenile 
books at an inexpensive price, 
many of them costing but one 
penny. This was in 1765, and 
from that time onward child- 
ren's literature has formed a 
regular branch of the publishers' and authors' 
trade. Many of these little books, illustrated 
by Bewick and other well-known artists, con- 
tained abridged stories of famous novels ; and 
"Tom Jones, 1 ' u Don Quixote," and "Gil 

Bias" (one supposes very 
appeared in the series, 
stories are very different 
sentiment to the above, 
unbearably didactic in 
treatment The chief aim 

much abridged) 

But most of the 

in thought and 

and are indeed 

intention and 

of the writers 

Prom, a Photo. 

appears to be the humiliation of the child 
hero or heroine who figures in the books, 
and of children in general ; this being 
brought about by the exhibition on every 
conceivable occasion of the superior wisdom 
and virtues of the mammas and gover- 
nesses. Perhaps even this standpoint is 
preferable to that of some of the modern 
books, where it is the little boy in a velveteen 
suit whose wit, repartee, and the rest, soften 
the heart of his brutal grandfather ; or a 
little girl whose disagreeable practice of 
saying grace at dinner parties, and of singing 
hymns at odd occasions, vanquishes the 
scepticism of her worldly papa. 

One delightful little book that came out in 
the Newberry series related the "Adventures 
of Goody Two Shoes," and has been generally 
attributed to Goldsmith. It is full of humour 
and sly little touches. But what boundless 
patience these liliputian readers must have 
had, and what a prodigious gulf there 
stretches between children who tolerate such 
a story as Mrs- Pinchard's " Blind Child " 
and the exacting little persons of to-day ! 

Another tiresome book — at least, we have 
only heard of one little boy, and fortunately 
a little boy of genius, who confesses he was 
fond of it — was Miss Edgeworth's "Harry 
and Lucy." Mr. Rusk in (writes Mrs. Severn 
from Brantwood) says his 
favourite book when he was 
ten years old was the "Arabian 
Nights ti ; up to then, and 
indeed always as a child, his 
chief favourite was Miss Edge- 
wort h's ' ( H ar ry and 1 ai c>\ ' ' 
The children in Miss Edge- 
worth's stories are, however, 
simpler and healthier than 
some of the creations of her 
predecessors; and "Simple 
Susan," which Scott declared 
brought tears into his eyes, is 
really a charming story, but 
not, I should fancy, appre- 
ciated by grown-up readers. 
Her other well-known story, 
" Rosamond," has received high praise in 
various quarters, and Miss Charlotte Yonge 
tells me it was a great favourite of hers; 
but whetter^jJji flriK to endow your 
small flfflp^fe.flth^sum .^agreeable model 

bit BUiatt <* Ft v . 





parents as Rosamond possessed is doubt- 

It is impossible even to make a passing 
reference to the numerous books that have 
come fast and thick since 
the days of Miss Edge worth, 
but a word of notice must 
fall upon that volume in 
whose pages many of us spent 
our most enchanted hours. 
M There is one book," says 
Mr + Stevenson in " Memories 
and Portraits/ 1 tf more gener- 
ally loved than * Shakespeare/ 
that captivates in childhood 
and still delights in age — I 
mean the * Arabian Nights.'" 
But what will Mr, Stevenson 
— who has himself had the 
rare fortune of turning out a 
boy's classic — say to this : 
that out of my three hundred 
schoolboys, only fourteen have 
read the Arabian romances? 
I say read, but to be com- 
pletely precise 1 should say named, only it is 
hard to conceive of a boy reading, and 
having no passion for, the "Arabian Nights." 

Can there be anything more melancholy 
than that a generation of boys and girls (as for 
the girls, their tastes are hopeless, and in 
their lists there is no record of the precious 
volume at alii should be growing up whose 
imagination has never been stirred and taken 
captive by that seductive crowd of geniis, 
caliphs, and sorcerers, and to whom the sorely- 
tried Si nd bad and Morgiana, and the rest of 
that captivating gallery, are 
not familiar and beloved 
friends? One would like to 
know, is the volume not 
placed in school libraries ? If 
not, what is the reason? If 
so, how comes it that the most 
vivid, magic, rich, and glow- 
ing stories that ever took cap- 
tive a child's spirit should be 
uncared for to-day? 

Let us see how it is with 
their elders; and I shall here 
take the opportunity of pre- 
senting the records that they 
have given me. One may 
wager with certainty that the 
Arabian tales will be found 
in Mr. Gladstone's treasure box; for although 
the theory that we are essentially the same 
through life may want modifying, there are 
few persons with high gifts of imaginativeness 

From a Photo, by Folk, Sydney. 

Frmn a Photo, by EUiott £ Fry. 

and receptivity who have not shown some- 
thing of the same qualities in their earfier 

Mrs. Drew writes on behalf of her illustrious 
father (Mr. Gladstone): u His 
favourite books at the age of 
nine and ten were 'Scott's 
Novels,' ' Froissart's Chro- 
nicles/ the * Pilgrim's Pro- 
gress,' and the 'Arabian 
Nights/ My own," adds Mrs, 
Drew, "at the same age were, 
first and foremost; the 'Arabian 
Nights,' also 'Stories from 
Froissart,' * Hans Andersen/ 
and the * Daisy Chain.' " 

The only omission that pro- 
duces a little surprise is 
Shakespeare's plays, but the 
age limit of ten explains this; 
and as I afterwards raised the 
limit to thirteen* it must be 
borne in mind when contrast- 
ing with the lists of others. 
" Froissart's Lives " were 
much in favour with boys at the beginning of 
this century. The history is said not to be 
especially accurate, and perhaps statesmen and 
historians, and a certain order of matter-of- 
fact people to whom precision is necessary, 
might suffer injury from the perusal; but 
right-minded hoys should delight in them, for 
there is killing and fighting on every page. 

Lord Salisbury writes with characteristic 

modesty that he " has very little information 

to give upon the subject, except what may seem 

of a very commonplace kind. His favourite 

books, as near as he can 

recollect, were Walter Scott's 

novels, the earlier novels of 

Dickens, Marry at, Fenimore 

Cooper, and Shakespeare's 


Romance, adventure, and 
poetry : here is a varied feast, 
and what a host of honour- 
able and heroic figures are 
seated round the board ! 

Those who love, to trace 
something of the look and 
ways and bearing of maturity 
in the child will examine the 
next three lists with interest. 
One little point — though one 
advances with caution, for it 
would not be wise to build any elaborate 
theory upon it or make any deductions there- 
from without fcr wider evidence than I have 

been ^^ERSfP^^^tlW.ff^^ me here 



shared the 
brother, the 

is this. The majority of robust lads, however 
greatly they distinguish themselves in after 
lift; in science, statesmanship, surgery, or 
other fields of action, have much the same 
tastes in reading, and it is the clatter of 
horse-shoes, the rattle of musketry, and all 
the stir of adventure and battle-field, that 
enchain their fancy. 

Exceptions there may be, as Ixjrd Wolseley's 
letter shows, hut on the whole this applies. 
Now, it may be mere chance, but it would 
appear as if with men of letters it is not so* 
There would seem to be some fine literary 
instinct implanted in their breasts which 
makes itself felt in the heginning of life. 

Scott, whilst he was still a child, sleeping 
in his mother's dressing-room, speaks of the 
rapture with which he sat up in his shirt 
reading " Shakespeare " by the light of the fire 
m her apartment; and Pope speaks of the 
ecstasy with which, as a little fellow, he 
pored over the " Faerie Queene. 

Mr. William Rossetti — who 
literary tastes of his famous 
childhood of the two being 
passed together— writes r "My 
brother read with more zest 
and personal preference than 
I did ; I perhaps showed more 
perseverance. Me hail very 
little liking for books in the 
nature of history or bio- 
graphy ; and my sister Chris- 
tina, to whom I was chatting 
the other day about this 
matter of books, was very 
little of a reader in early 
years, and has never been 
exactly 'bookish.' She tells 
me that at the age of nine or 
so she was particularly fond of Hone's f E very- 
Day Book/ which was also a great favourite 
of my brothers, My sister adds it was in 
4 Hone ' that she for the first time saw the 
name of Keats, and some extracts from his 
'Eve of St. Agnes/ which impressed her as 
singularly beautiful. All three of us were 
from an early age familiar with * John Gilpin/ 
and relished it much. 

" My brother, at the age of five or six 
years, was attracted to ' Hamlet^ It was 
illustrated by Retzoch, and there were similar 
copies of * Romeo and Juliet/ *The Tempest/ 
' Midsummer Night's Dream/ and * Mac- 
beth/ Only extracts were given, and these 
he read with great delight A little later on, 
his favourite reading was ' Marmion * and 
other of Scott's poems, as well as one or 
two of the novels. Byron's * Siege of 

from a Phuta, bg W. «* B. -Doirtwp. 

Corinth/ ' Mazeppa/ and the ' Corsair ' 
were favourites. We had a book called 
' Martin and Westall's Illustrations of the 
Bible/ at which he was constantly looking, 
as well as at the Bible* notably some histori- 
cal parts of the Old Testament and the 

" At the age of eleven or twelve he made 
a series of pen-and-ink sketches for Pope*s 

* Iliad.' Our elder sister Maria was im- 
mensely enthusiastic about it, and he, 
also, in a minor degree. He knew at that 
age in a cursory way and enjoyed Ariosto's 

* Orlando Furioso/ of which our grandfather 
had an illustrated edition ; but what delighted 
him perhaps more constantly than anything 
else was a series of stories, which came out 
in cheap numbers with coloured prints, called 

* Brigand Tales.' He also read and liked 
'Gil Bias/ Goethe's 'Faust/ 'Robinson 
Crusoe J (which was not a special favourite), 
some of the more entertaining parts of 
'Gulliver's Travels/ and the 'Arabian Nights/ 

" He had an edition of Burns, and was 
familiar with it in a sort of 
way, but didn't take to the 
poetry as such. Iamb's 
'Tales from Shakespeare' was 
a good deal in his hands, but 
not, I think, at all relished 
He was very fond of 
'Nicholas Nickleby/ and knew 
something of * Pickwick/ but 
I don't think he took much to 
the last named." 

The rest of the list is, un- 
fortunately, too long to enu- 
merate here, but I notice the 
" Newgate Calendar," which 
was much read about ten and 
eleven, and as early as nine; " Rienzi/' 
which was a great favourite; "Gay's Fables/' 
the prints of which were possibly the 
greatest attraction to him ; and " Ada/' 
which was a great favourite, and was about a 
mysterious murder. 

Miss Rossettis favourite volumes also were 
" Scott's Poems" and the " Arabian Nights." 
Her brother adds : — 

11 Our mother was a very religious woman 
and most careful parent ; but she never 
dosed us much with goody-goody books, 
The 'History of the Fairchild Family* was 
not with any of us at all a favourite. Among 
short poems we all three cherished were 
' Casablanca f and ' Chevy Chase/ This, 
along with the * Englishman ' and the 
1 Spanish Lady/ seems to have been the only 
old b W .^.^^ te ,^jdish years." 



Probably, as Mr. Rossetti points out, 
inherited tendencies had no little influence 
on the taste of these gifted children, for 
their father had written a great deal of poetry 
on Italian patriotic subjects, with which they 
were familiar. 

But what a wonderful list it is ! What a 
rich array of the greatest names, what 
high and rare atmosphere for boyhood to 
grow up in ! Keep that scroll, admit it into 
your memory, and then glance at a few lists 
sent in by the boys of to-day. Here are 
three taken at random from the pile that 
lies before me : — 

"The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn," 
by Mark Twain ; " The Adventures of Tom 
Sawyer," by Mark Twain; "Tom Brown's 
School Days " ; " Dropped from the Clouds," 
by Jules Verne; "Three Men in a Boat"; 
" A Robbery Under Arms." 

"The Boys' Own Paper"; "Strand 
Magazine " ; " The Amusing Journal " ; 
"Eric, or Little by Little," editor, Rev. 
Farrar; "Dick Cheveley"; "The Ludgate 
Monthly " ; " Three Midshipmen " ; " Three 
Lieutenants " ; "Three Commanders;" 
"Three Admirals." 

"Chums" (Cassell's); "Boys"; "Boys' 
Own Paper"; "A Bad Boy's Diary"; "A 
Good Boy's Diary " ; " Strand Magazine " 
(" Sherlock Holmes' Adventures" and "The 
Diary of a Doctor"); " Dombey and Son," 
" David Copperfield," "Old Curiosity Shop" 
(Dickens) ; " Three Men in a Boat " (not to 
say anything about the dog); "Boy's Annual"; 
" Ludgate Monthly." 

Another poet in whom a feeling for litera- 
ture showed itself at an early age is Mr. 
Alfred Austin. 

" I do not remember," he says, " that any 
story-books, merely as story-books, excited in 
me the childish emotion that was aroused by 
works more directly allied to literature; 
though, as a matter of course, if at a some- 
what earlier age, one had one's share of 
traditional delight in * Robinson Crusoe,' in 
' Gulliver's Travels,' no doubt specially edited 
virginibus puerisque> and in Mungo Park's 
1 Travels.' But my first real experience of 
enthusiasm in connection with books was 
when my father read to me the First Canto 
of 'The Lady of the Lake, 1 and with the 
sound of the four verses : — 

The stag at eve had drunk his fill 
Where danced the moon on Monar's rill, 
And deep his midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade — 

I had a sensation never again experienced 
till I caught my first sight of Italy. No 

doubt that opening out of a new world 
and of a real life occurred somewhat 
before the period named by you ; but I 
think it awoke, or perhaps only discovered, 
the preferences that manifested themselves 
later on. A love of form and sound, in 
other words, I suppose, of style — however 
elementary and deficient — henceforward 
seemed to decide one's tastes. Hence, 
Pope's translation of the 'Iliad,' Cowper's 
* Lines on My Mother's Picture,' copious 
extracts from Byron, Pope's 'Eloisa to 
Abelard,' the more martial passages from 
Shakespeare, were associated in one's reading 
with Livy, in whom I delighted, especially 
where that writer — greater, it seems to me, as 
an orator even than an historian — records 
the speeches of Roman worthies ; with 
F£n£lon's *T£l£maque' and with Bossuet's 
4 Oraisons Funfebres.' 

" I was, however, anything but a voracious 
reader, and I must confess that I then 
preferred, as I do still, all forms of open-air 
exercise, and even a certain receptive vacancy 
of mind, to all the books in the world." 

In the same strain and in strengthening 
of my theory is the record of one of the 
living masters of prose, Professor Dowdep. 
After recalling with pleasure "Masterman 
Ready," "The Children of the New Forest," 
and "Uncle Tom's Cabin," he says, " with 
the latter my imagination was caught ; and I 
think I was a little in love with Eva as shown 
in a picture. Before I was eight I was much 
impressed by ' Macbeth,' and I longed for the 
complete * Shakespeare ' which was locked 
up in my father's bookcase. Before I was 
thirteen I had earned this ' Shakespeare ' 
by writing thirty-six short essays, three for 
each volume, and I still possess the book. 
It does not contain Shakespeare's poems, and 
(as I began to collect early) I remember 
buying a little copy of the poems, which 
became a great treasure. When about 
thirteen I was lucky in coming across Henry 
Reed's ' Lectures on English Literature,' and 
this led me on to Wordsworth, in whom I 
lost myself for years (or, perhaps, found 
myself for the first time). I read nearly 
all the 'Waverley Novels' in bed during 
my frequent illnesses as a little boy. I 
remember that I cared much for Horace's 
1 Odes,' and got a vivid feeling of the. 
power of style from Tacitus. Among my 
early favourites were the 'Vicar of Wake- 
field ' and Goldsmith's c Plays and Poems.' 
That excellent book, *T£l£maque,' gave me 
great pleasure^ and I believe that it would do 
so if J. reffli.-;itr ! Jipw. l j Jt ^ r as ? however, quali- 



fied by 'Gil Bias/ The only histories I 
cared to read were of the French Revolution 
and Napoleonic time," 

As characteristic as this of the man of letters 
is the brief, concise record of 
a distinguished man of action. 
Lord Wolseley, The scholarly 
and (one surmises) peaceful 
little boy-student reads his- 
torical description very likely 
with a single eye to vividness 
and picturesqueness of writing ; 
but the miniature warrior, 
already inspired with the 
martial spirit, cares for none 
of these things — he is already 
the true soldier, and his 
country is the animating centre 
of his thoughts, 

'* When a child of the age 
you mention," writes Lord 


From a Phot* ft* EUioU «£ Ft*. 

Jfa*%rV*9 £vr-z*< 


ijz^jt, £iu*z <~y+~£ 

7 a 


Wolseley, " I read with intense interest 
i M&Op*s Fables,' i Robinson Crusoe/ 
4 Captain Cook,' and 'Commodore Anson's 
Voyages/ and all the stories of naval and 
military adventure with which the pages of 
jld * Peter Parley ' were then filled. But I 
didn't care for the heroes of other nations, 
Nelson and King Alfred, who w r ere the great 
heroes of my boyhood, would have had no 
particular interest for me had they not been 
Englishmen* It was love of country more 
than love of heroes which filled my mind 
and excited my interest and enthusiasm." 

What a delightful picture this brings 
before one's mind of little Master Wolseley 
meeting, we will say, a French schoolboy, 
twice his size, at some foreign watering- 
place, and vindicating the national honour of 
which he is already jealous, and the bright- 
iess of which he has helped to sustain. 

Science in this little essay of mine is 
honourably represented by Sir Henry Thomp- 
son and Professor Huxley, and by a curious 
coincidence the three first-named books in 
each list are the same : The 
"Pilgrim's Progress," " Robin- 
son Crusoe," "Gulliver's 

To this Sir Henry Thomp- 
son adds : " * The Wars of the 
Jews and the Destruction of 
Jerusalem ' was an enormous 
favourite, and made a great 
impression on me, as did also w 
(and here j at any rate, we 
suspect the modern schoolboy 
will be in sympathy with him) 
"the Eton I^atin Grammar, 
the most hateful production 
in the form of a school hook 
that I ever encountered in 
my life, seeing that 
it was forced upon 
me as a daily com- 
panion before I 
was six years old!" 
Professor Hux- 
ley says: "1 am 
not sure that my 
memory of sixty 
years ago is very 
trustworthy ; hut 
in addition to the 
books named, 
1 Mungo Park's 
Travels * (I was 
long set on emu- 
lating that worthy) 
and the stories in 
the Bible, particularly the Apocrypha, arc 
visible in the mist. Our repertory was very 
limited in com- 
parison with 
that of the 
modern child/ 5 
One is 
tempted to 
wonder whe- 
ther any of the 
books that 
schoolboys are 
reading to-day 
will so deeply 
have stamped 
t hem s elves 
upon their 
minds and 
imaginations ™ 

,i . ; f JT liyill 3IB Hr THOMPSON. 

that ""tflfffflfclTY OF fflt€tHBftH» "** 



hence the familiar names and scenes will " Byron's Poems," " The Lady of the Lake," 

also come out of " the mist." Is it pos- and Homers " Iliad." Scott's novels and 

sible that any enduring impression can be Fenimore Cooper's were the chief delight of 

made on a child's plastic mind if the volume Mr. G. F. Watts at the age of nine. 


££**~*-~*t-~&C*&£ '**— 

U*?£~fa~£ y 



be read but once and then replaced by some- 
thing more exciting — or, to use the more 
exact word, by something more sensational ? 

There is one book— I should not have 
to chronicle its absence had it been possible 
to reach Samoa within reasonable time 
— which to my astonishment appears neither 
in the reading of the boys of to-day nor 
in those of a bygone past : and it would be 
left out in the cold altogether were it not 
for the homage of one woman — fortunately 
of sufficient rare distinction to make the 
homage of worth ; for it is Madame Patti, 
whose favourite book as a child was " Monte 
C :hristo." 

Miss Ada Rehan, who has won distinction 
in another field of art, was fondest of * ( fairy 
tales and Tennyson/ 1 

Mr. San t ley's boyish favourites include 
" Robinson Crusoe," numberless books of 
adventure, Shakespeare's plays, and many old 
plays. Mr. W. K Lecky's catalogue includes 

The u old plays " seem hardly appropriate 
pasturage for little boys to browse upon, and 
the same objection may have risen in the 
minds of many older persons as they have 

perused some 
of the re- 
cords given 
here* I once 
put a ques- 
tion bearing 
upon this 
matter to Mr. 
Walter Be- 
sant, whose 
own boyish 
library in- 
cluded most 
of the classics 
I have named. 
" 1 read all 
the Restora- 




From a Photo, ftp 

boy > and I don't think they did me any harm. 
The fact is, I didn't understand the impro- 
prieties ; most boys don't until they have 
been to a public school, When I was a 
small boy there used to call upon our 
family a very important relative, a prim, 
decorous old lady, who 
looked with great suspicion 
on our reading anything 
except books written especi- 
ally for children about 
children, mostly of the 
priggish kind that die early. 
I remember once when she 
came, I was sitting in a 
corner reading one of 
Scott's. I don't remember 
which" (it was "Peveril of 
the Peak "), " but I came to 
that passage about Charles 
II. being the father of many 
subjects, where Bucking- 
ham says : ' the father of 
many/ and though I didn't 
in the least understand the significance, 
something in the sentence diverted me, and 
I burst out laughing. The solemn relative 
and some other decorous people asked what 
the mirth was about, whereupon I delightedly 
read out the passage. My humour, or rather 
Scott's, was received in complete silence, 
which, though it didn't damp my spirits, 
considerably puzzled me. 3 ' 

Perhaps the moral that is most driven 
home to one, or, at any rate, to the humble 
writer of this, is that bad books so-called — 
meaning hooks dealing openly with the rela- 
tions of men and women and with matters of 
the work! — do not much harm a clean- 
minded little boy, 

Of much greater import, so it seems to 
me, is the vulgarity of style and sentiment of 
many of the books favoured by modern boys. 
There are books— I will not advertise them 
more than I can help — recurring again and 
again, whose distinguishing characteristics are 
certain cheap qualities that should recommend 
them to the servants* hall, but nowhere else. 
The strain of commonness in humour, the 

BUiott «* Fn> 

vulgarity of the style, the complete absence 
of anything imaginative, or high, or heroic, that 
can inspire and animate and unconsciously 
educate a boy, are so marked, that it is a 
marvel that parents should permit such 
literature in the school-room ; and their 
popularity is the severest 
commentary on the national 
demoralization of literary 

Again, although several 
of the books of adventure 
and historical romance 
seem written with a whole- 
some breeziness {Henty's 
are a notable instance), is 
it not a pity that a race of 
children should grow up 
completely unfamiliar with 
the masterpieces of English 

If these preferences arc 
typical and representative, 
as I believe they are, we 
can no longer cherish the belief that 
Scott retains his hold over youth. Here 
and there a boy reads " Ivanhoe," and 
more rarely still li The Talisman " ; but 
of all that long gallery of beloved figures 
enshrined in our memories — of Guy 
Manneri ng, of the Dominie, of Cleveland, 
Locks lev, Quentin Durward, Major Dal get ty, 
Claverhouse, and the rest — these boys and 
girls know nothing. If stories of high pur- 
poses and brave passions have any meaning 
and influence, one would almost feel disposed 
to say, " To have read and loved Scott is a 
liberal education "; and Sir Henry Thompson 
will agree that it is to be gained in a pleasanter 
school than that of the Latin grammar. 

In a few years hence these chubby-faced, 
bright-eyed little lads will be playing their 
parts, ill or well, in the theatre of life, 
and the play, the troubles, the delights of 
boyhood, will have passed for ever. But 
more enduring are the influences, the 
memories, and the associations of life's 
morning, and they cannot be set in too high 
and heroic a measure. 

by Google 

Original from 

By Grant Allen, 



HE only thing known about 
her with certainty," said the 
papers next morning, "is 
that the wretched woman 
was an associate of the man 
Laminski, who is believed to 
have been the real author of this atrocious 
outrage. She lodged in the same house with 
him in the Boulevard St. Michel; she worked 
at the same studio ; the relations between 
them are described as most cordial ; and it is 
even said that she was engaged to be married 
to him. By this fortunate disaster society is 
well rid "—but, there, you know the way the 
papers talk* about these things, and how very 
little reason there is, as a rule, in all they say 
of them. 

Let me tell you the true story of that 
sweet little American woman. 

She was small and slight : one of those 
dainty, delicate, mignonne New England girls, 
with shell-like ears and transparent com- 
plexions, who look as if they were made of 
the finest porcelain 3 yet spring, Heaven knows 
how, out of rough upland farm-houses. It 
was in her native Vermont that the hunger of 
art first came upon Essie Lothrop, You must 
to know just how it came, 
the throat, as it were, one 
day, among the cows and the apple-harvest, 
at sight of some early Italian pictures 
engraved in a magazine. From her childhood 
upward, to be sure, Essie had drawn pic- 
tures for her own delight with a plain lead 
VdI. v«l -m 

:now America 
seizing her by 

pencil ; drawn the ducks f and the lambs t and 
the wild orange-lilies that ran riot in the 
woods ; drawn them instinctively, without 
teaching of any sort, for pure, pure love of 
them. But these early Italian pictures, then 
seen for the first time, crossing her simple 
horizon on the hills of Vermont, Toused a 
fresh fierce thrill in that eager little breast of 
hers. She had heard of art, from a distance, 
as a thing gloriouj^^ond beautiful, which 
sprang far from New Bligland Now those 
four or five wood-cuts ih the magazine 
suggested to her mind unknown possibilities 
of artistic beauty, She said to herself at 
once, " I must know these things, I must 
see them with my eyes. I must live my life 
among them." 

From that day forth it became a fixed idea 
with Essie Lothrop that she should go to 
Paris and study painting. Where Paris was, 
what Paris could do for her, she only guessed 
from the meagre details in her common- 
school geography. But with American 
intuition she was somehow dimly aware that 
if you wanted an artistic education, Paris was 
the one right place to go for it. 

" Paris ! " her father cried, when she spoke 
of it first to him, in the field behind the 
barn ; " why, Essie, do tell ! That's whar 
folks are alius get tin 1 up revolootions, ain't 
it ? An' I guess them furriners is most all 

" But it's the place to study art, father," 
Essie cried, vrith her big eyes wide open. 





" And I mean to study art, if I have to die 
for it." 

She didn't know how prophetic a word she 
had spoken, 

Thenceforth, however, life meant but one 
thing to Essie Lothrop. She lived in order 
to work for the money which would take her 
to study art in Paris. She was sixteen when 
that revelation came upon her: she was 
twenty when she found herself, alone and a 
stranger, in the streets of the wicked, un- 
heeding city. 

Not that she thought it wicked. Essie 
was too innocent to have any fears in 
committing herself to the unknown world of 
Paris. With true American guilelessness, 
she considered it perfectly natural that a girl 
of twenty should hire a room for herself, 
au cinau&mC) in the Boulevard St. Michel, 
and should present herself as a student at 
Valentin's studio. 

She had learned a little French beforehand 
in her remote New England home ; learned 
it direct from a book, with just a hint or two 
as to pronunciation from an older and wiser 
companion ; but she had so much of that 
strange natural tact which Heaven has been 
pleased to bestow on New England girls, 

ew r,ngianci gins, 

that she spoke tolerably well even at the 
very first outset, and quickly picked up a 
fair Parisian accent in the course of a 
week or two. Sometimes these frail and 
transparent - looking Yankee girls have 
mind enough to do anything they choose 
to undertake, and certainly Essie Lothrop 
spoke French at the end of three months 
with a fluency and purity that would have 
made most Englishmen stare with astonish- 

There was joy at Valentin's the first 
morning when Essie made her appear- 
ance. Slight, smiling, demure, with her 
American ease and her American frankness, 
she took the fancy of all the men students 
at once* 

"She is good/' they said, "the little 
one ! n 

When she dropped her brush, it was 
Stanislas Lam in ski who picked it up and 
handed it back to her. She accepted it 
with a smile, the perfectly courteous and 
good-humoured smile o: the girl who had 
come fresh from her Vermont fields to that 
great teeming Paris, who knew no middle 
term between her native village and the 
Boulevard St Michel. She thought no 
evil. To her, these men were just fellow- 
students, as the Vermont boys had been 
in the common school of her township. 
She took their obtrusive politeness as her 
natural due, never dreaming Jean and 
Alphonse could mean anything more by it 
than Joe and Ptte would have meant in her 
upland hamlet. 

"Is she droll, the little one?" the men 
students said at first, when she gravely allowed 
them to carry her things back for her to her 
room au cinquiime^ and even invited them 
in with smiling grace to share her cup of tea 
—those noisy youths, who lived upon nothing 
but cigarettes and absinthe. They looked at 
one another shamefacedly, and stifled their 
smiles ; then they answered : " Merci, 
mademoiselle, we do not drink tea. But we 
thank you from the heart for your amiable 
hospitality* 1 ' 

They bowed and withdrew, Laminski last 
of all, with a side glance over his shoulder. 
Then, when they reached the bottom of the 
five flights of stairs, they burst out laughing 
simultaneously. But it was a deprecatory 
laugh. "Is she innocent, the American? 
She asked us to tea ! Hein, Jules 5 my boy ! 
hein, Alphonse ' that was a rich one, 
wasn't it ? " 

But Laminski lingered behind, and looked 
up at her windoTCjnal f rorn 




As for Essie, she sat down, not one atom 
abashed, to think over her first day's adven- 
tures in the studio. An English girl under 
the circumstances would have been terribly 
oppressed by a vague sense of loneliness. 
But Essie was not It is the genius of her 
countrywomen. She sat down and smiled to 
herself at her day's work, contentedly. What 
nice, friendly young men they had all been, 
to be sure, and how polite they had seemed 
to her ! And Valentin himself had looked 
approvingly at her first essay, and had 
muttered to himself, " She will do, the 
little one,** How delicious to be really in 
Paris, where men and women learn art, and 
to feel yourself in touch with all those great 
masters in the Louvre and the Luxembourg ! 

Essie was quite at home at once, as she 
brewed her tea, and drank it by herself in 
her room au cinquume. 
Only, she was half sorry 
to be quite alone that 
first afternoon; what a 
pity those good - looking, 
nice-mannered young men 
hadn*t really dropped in to 
share a friendly cup with 
her ! 

Next morning she was 
back at the studio early, 
neat and demure as ever, 
her golden hair wound up 
in the most artistic coil 
with charming freedom, 
and her sweet child's face 
beaming innocent welcome 
to the m^p as they entered. 
The girls looked more 
coldly at her, and gave 
her a stiff bow; but only 
that second day. Before 
a week was out they under- 
stood "the American," and 
vaguely felt that though 
her code of proprieties was 
quite other than their own 
- — she came without a 
chaperon — yet she was 
entirely mm me il faut y and 
a dear little thing into the 
bargain also. They never 
interfered with her ; they 
let her come and go, recognising the fact 
that, after all, Americans were Americans, 
and "que voulez-vous, ma chfcre ? C'est 
com me 5a U-bas, allez ! " 

Valentin approved of her. 

"That child will go far," he said some- 
times, confidentially, to Stanislas Laminski. 


"She has talent, do you see? Talent ! bah, 
she has genius- She has learnt nothing, of 
course ; but she will learn ; she is plastic. 
There's more originality in that child's little 
finger than in all that fat K^rouac J s Breton 
body. Ah, yes, she will go far, if you others 
leave her alone. She is innocent, the little 
one j respect her innocence." 

Laminski sat next her and painted by her 
side. He did his best to help hen Often 
he pointed out to her w T hen things she dicj 
were technically wrong ; set her right in hej 
drawing, corrected her first crude ideas of 
colour. Essie, living for art, put her head 
on one side and drank it all in eagerly. She 
was docile like a child ; she saw these 
men knew more about it than she did, and 
she was anxious to profit as far as possible 
by their instruction. laminski liked her; 


"he did mis best to help her." 

she was so small and so pretty. like a 
dainty little flower, Laminski thought to 
himself. With an artist's eye, with a poet's 
heart, how could he help admiring her? 

One afternoon he walked home with her, 
and carried her things for her. At the top of 
the stairs, she turned and took them from him, 




smiling. " Will you come in and rest awhile, 
monsieur ? " she asked, with her innocent 
frankness. Laminski hesitated. The others 
were not by. After all, what harm ? Why 
not accept that innocent invitation in the 
spirit in which she gave it ? 

He stammered out a vague acquiescence. 
Essie flung open the door and preceded him 
into the room. It was a bedroom of the 
common Parisian Jack-of-all-trades sort, with 
the bed huddled away into a niche in the 
background, and the rest of the apartment 
furnished like a salon. Essie waved him to 
the sofa. He seated himself on it, gingerly, 
very close to the edge, as if half afraid of 
making himself too comfortable. Essie 
noticed it and laughed. " But why so ? " 
she asked, merrily. Then her eye fell on an 
envelope on the table close by. "Ah! a 
letter from Dicky ! " she cried, and took it 
up and opened it. 

"And who is Dicky?" Laminski asked, 
gazing hard at her, inquiringly. 

" My brother," Essie answered, devouring 
the letter. " He tells me all about our farm, 
and my father, and the chickens." 

The young man leaned back and watched 
her respectfully with a stifled smile, till she 
had finished reading it. She went through 
with it unaffectedly to the end, and then laid 
it down, glowing. Laminski was charmed 
at so much natural simplicity. 

11 Dicky tells me all about our pets at the 
farm," she said, simply; and to Laminski 
the mere mention of the farm was delicious 
in its ncuveti. " He tells me about my 
ducks, and hew our neighbour has broken 
his arm, and that Biddy, the servant" (at 
home she would have said " the hired girl ") 
" is engaged to be married." 

Then she felt amused herself, to observe 
how formal all these domestic details of 
Vermont society sounded, even in her own 
ears, when one made French prose of them. 
But to Laminski, they were still stray breaths 
of Arcadia. 

"I suppose you Russians can hardly 
understand what America's like," she added, 
after a pause, just to keep conversation 
rolling ; " but we Americans love it." 

Laminski started back like one stung. 
" Mademoiselle ! " he cried, angrily. 

" What have I done ? " Essie asked, draw- 
ing away in surprise. " What have I said ? 
Why do you start ? Surely we Americans 
can love America ? " 

"A la bonne heurel" he answered, gazing 
hard at her in a strange way. "But why 
treat me like this ? Why call me a Russian ? " 


" I thought you were one, from your name," 
Essie replied, taken aback. " Isn't Laminski 
Russian ? " 

" Thank Heaven, no," the dark young man 
answered, with a fierce flash of the eyes. 
" I'm a Pole, mademoiselle, and, like all good 
Poles, I hate and detest Russia. Call me a 
Chinaman, if you will, a negro, a monkey; 
but not a Russian." 

" But isn't the Czar your Emperor, too ? " 
Essie inquired, innocently. She was too 
unversed in European affairs to understand 
that a Pole could differ from a Russian 
otherwise than as a Californian differs from a 
New Englander. 

Laminski suppressed an oath. Then he 
went on to explain to her in brief but 
sufficiently vigorous terms the actual state of 
feeling between Poles and Russians. Essie 
listened with the intent interest of the 
intelligent American ; for, as a rule, with the 
average Yankee, you may feel pretty sure of 
finding that he is absolutely ignorant of any 
piece of information you may desire to 
impart to him, but eagerly anxious to know 
all about it. A great desire to learn and 
capacity for learning co-exist with an 
astounding want of information and culture. 

" Then you are a Catholic ? " Essie said, 
at last, after listening to his explanation with 
profound interest. 

The young man gazed at her with an 
expression of amused surprise. " I am of 
whatever religion mademoiselle prefers," he 
answered, courteously — " except only the 
religion of the accursed Russians." 

" I don't understand you," Essie said, 
much puzzled. Such easy-going gallantry 
was remote, indeed, from the sober, God- 
fearing New England model. 

Laminski smiled again. "Well, we ad- 
vanced politicians in Europe," he said, twirl- 
ing his black moustache, " don't, as a rule, 
belong to any religion in particular — unless 
it be the religion of the ladies who interest us." 

" Oh, how very sad," Essie replied, looking 
hard at him, pityingly. " But perhaps you 
may see clearer in time." 

" Perhaps," laminski answered, with a 
curious puckering of the corners of his 
mouth. "Though I hardly expect it." 

" Will you take some tea ? " Essie asked, 
just to relieve the tension. For the first time 
in her life she was dimly aware of that barrier 
of sex which she had never felt with the 
young men in Vermont. But these European 
men are so strange and so different ! They 
always make you remember, somehow, that 
they are men and that you are a woman. 




"Thank you/ J he replied : "mademoiselle 
is very good." And he sat looking on while 
Essie prepared it. 

When it was ready, he tasted it* He had 
drunk tea in quantities when he was a hoy 
near Warsaw, but never since the first day 
he came to Paris, " How innocent it is ! " 
he exclaimed, as he tasted it. And Essie 
stared again, not knowing what to make of 

From that day forth, it was the gossip of 
the atelier that Laminski had his eyes upon 
the little American, He walked home with 
her daily ; he took her to cafes more reputable 
than was his wont ; he escorted her on 

The strangest part of it all was that the 
men themselves were silenced by her in- 
nocence. " Chut' Not a word of that '" 
gros Kerouac would exclaim, to the laughing 
group around him as Essie entered ; " here 
comes the little one ! " and, instantly, a 
demure silence fell on the noisy crowd ; or 
if they laughed after that, they laughed at 
something where Essie's own silvery voice 
could join them merrily. 

" As for laminski, he is reformed," 
Alphonse said more than once, with a 
shrug, to Jules* " You would not know that 
man. He half forgets the Dead Rat, and 
hasn't been seen for fifteen days at BruantV 



Sundays to the Louvre and 
to Cluny, The other girl- 
students gave her dark hints 
at times, which Essie did not 
understand, of some mysterious 
danger which they seemed to 
think lay in intercourse with 
Laminski, or, for the matter of 
that, with any of the other men 
who frequented the studio* But 
the dark hints glided unnoticed past Essie. 
Clad in her triple mail of New England 
innocence, she never even guessed what the 
h inters were driving at These men were 
gentlemen {as Essie understood the word), 
students of art like herself ; and why should 
a self-respecting girl be afraid or ashamed of 
accepting their kind escort to the cafe or the 
theatre ? She walked unharmed through the 
midst of that strange, unconventional 
Bohemian Paris, as unconventional as itself, 
by dint of puce innate goodness and 

Digitized by Google 


Month by month went on, and indeed a 
strange change came over Laminski. He 
stopped away more and more from the cafes 
chant an is and the open-air balls ; he was 
found continually till late hours of the 
evening at Essie Lothrop's apartment "And 
mind you/' said Alphonse, "what is strange, 
it is all for the good motive, laminski 
reformed ! Is it a good one, that? Take 
my word for it, comrades, he will marry her, 
at church, and settle down into a brave 
bourgeois, :1 

Mean while, Essie painted. Oh, how Essie 




painted ! Valentin's heart rejoiced. Since 
Marie Bashkirtseff, no atelier in Paris had 
had such a promising woman pupil. And 
Laminski painted, too \ the pair of them, 
side by side : she, with grace and refinement ; 
he, with fiery force and Slavonic vigour. 

At last, the other students began to 
murmur that if that went much further, 
allons I that would end by compromising the 
little one. Laminski's brow clouded when 
they spoke these things darkly ; and when 
Laminski was angry, it boded no good to 
anyone. However, in order that nobody 
should ever say he was seen too often coming 
down the stairs of that angel's house, he 
adopted an excellent and saving device : he 
removed from madame's, that Bohemian 
pension, and took a room au sixtime, just 
above Essie's, in the self-same house in the 
Boulevard St Michel. Sacred name of a 
dog, nobody can blame a man for being seen 
at night about his own apartments. 

And then, he employed his spare hours at 
night by painting Essie as Ste. Genevieve 
in a great historical composition. 

What wonder that Essie Lothrop fell in 
love with him ? All men are human ; still 
more, all women. He was so handsome, so 
clever, so fiery, so incomprehensible, so 
utterly unlike the young men in New Eng- 
land. That very incomprehensibility was a 
point in his favour ; it appealed to woman's 
love of the mysterious and the infinite. 
Besides, Alphonse was right ; strange to say, 
Laminski meant it all for the good motive. 
The more he looked at her, the more vividly 
did he feel that fate, blind fate, was drawing 
him against his will to marry that pure and 
beautiful girl — to marry her at church, like 
any ordinary bourgeois. 

They never exactly arranged it. It grew 
up between them imperceptibly. As he 
painted her in her simple white robe as Ste. 
Genevieve, they found themselves addressing 
one another as Essie and Stanislas, " presque 
sans le savoir." 

But step by step, they both of them came 
to regard it as natural — nay, almost inevitable. 
Essie admired him unspeakably: and indeed, 
there was much to admire in Laminski. A 
man who could paint with such poetical feeling, 
who could make such sweet fancies breathe 
upon canvas, must have much that was good 
in him. And then, his fiery eloquence ! 
Essie loved to hear him, when work was 
over, pouring forth his untamable Slavonic 
soul in torrent floods of denunciation against 
tyrants. She didn't know much about this 
European world, to be sure, but she had 

Digitized by GOOgle 

been taught to believe that tyrants were 
plentiful as blackberries in Europe. Here in 
France, of course, we were living under a 
Republic, which made it almost as good as 
America. But Russia and Germany, and all 
those other outlying countries — well, Stanislas 
told her the Czar was a monster, and she had 
read Mr. Kennan's articles in the Century^ 
and could well believe it. 

Once or twice a week, however, it was 
Stanislas's way to go out at night to some 
mysterious meeting. On such occasions, 
Essie asked him what society he frequented. 
Laminski smiled a curiously self-restrained 
smile, and answered in a somewhat evasive 
voice that it had something to do with the 
Friends of Freedom. These Friends of 
Freedom were often on his lips ; Essie didn't 
exactly know what they were driving at, but 
she took their plan to be some benevolent 
scheme for emancipating the people of Poland 
by touching the hearts of the Russian 
officials. She fancied they disseminated 
humanitarian tracts, and in that bland belief 
she went on, unconcerned, with her painting 
at Valentin's. It was all very dreadful, 
no doubt, as Stanislas said, this European 
tyranny ; but, with art at her door, she 
couldn't pretend to interest herself in politics. 
Her heart was absorbed in her work and in 

Yet she loved his rhetoric. She loved to 
see him stop in the very act of painting Ste. 
Genevieve's halo ; loved to see him stand, 
palette on thumb, in his room au six&me y 
and enforce with aggressive and demonstra- 
tive paint-brush his angry charge against the 
crimes of the bourgeoisie. Who the bour- 
geoisie might be, Essie didn't quite know, 
but she understood them to be wicked 
oppressors of the poor, which, of course, was 
quite enough to justify Stanislas's righteous 
indignation. He looked so handsome when 
he opened the vials of wrath on the heads of 
the bourgeoisie that Essie just loved to see 
and hear him demolish them. Nothing could 
be too bad for those wicked creatures, if half 
of what Stanislas said was true about them. 

By-and-by, while Essie was still working 
at Valentin's, and Laminski was vaguely 
reflecting upon the ways and means by which 
at last to marry her, all Paris was startled one 
memorable morning by the terrible news of 
an Anarchist bomb-outrage. It was the 
first that had taken place since Essie's 
arrival ; and it shocked and surprised her. 
To think people should act with such reck- 
less folly ! 

At Valentin's that- xfoy, when the news 



1 43 


* P 5HE loved his rhetoric 

came in t all was huhbuh and excitement. 
Alphonse and the gros Kerouac were dis- 
tinctly of opinion that Government should 
do something. Anarchists should be caught 
and fried in butter. The Gascon surmised 
that it would he not a bad plan to cut them 
bit by bit into little square pieces in the 
Place de la Concorde, as a warning to others. 
Valentin himself suggested, with grotesque 
minuteness, that they might be utilized for 
purposes of artistic study, by slow torture 
in afetiers, as models for gladiatorial 
pieces or Christian martyrdoms. Only 
Lam in ski held his tongue and shrugged 
his shoulders philosophically* He appeared 
to be neither surprised nor shocked at the 
tidings of the outrage. He was interested 
chiefly in the subsidiary question of what 
arrests had been made ; and when the paper 
came in — extra special, hot pressed — he 
glanced at it with some concern, read the 
names and descriptions of the three work- 
men " detained on suspicion/' and, lighting 
a cigarette with a nonchalant air, went on 
with his painting* 

At home at the Boulevard St. Michel that 
evening, Essie spoke with some natural 

Digitized by Kii 

horror and loathing of this 
meaningless explosion, 

14 How detestable," she 
cried, lt to fling a bomb like 
that, in an open place, where 
you may injure anybody ! 
So wrong, and so silly ! I 
hope they've caught the 
wicked people who did it ! " 
Stanislas gazed at her with 
deep eyes of tender com- 
miseration* He laid his hand 
on her golden head, 

*' My child/' he said, caress- 
ingly, "you don't understand 
these questions of politics. 
How should you, indeed, who 
are a pure daughter of the 
people, a child of toil, born 
in a free land, from brave 
tillers of the soil, who cast 
off long since the rotten 
fetters of tyranny ? It is 
otherwise in Europe, Here 
we have to fight a hard battle 
against the strong, We must 
use such poor arms as tyrants 
leave us. All is fair in war, 
and it is open war now be- 
tween the bourgeoisie and the 
Friends of Liberty. They 
would kill us if they could ; 
we will kill them in return for it, You 
see, it is all a fair field and no favour." 

u But, Stanislas," Essie cried, "you don J t 
mean to say you approve of these wretches 
who maim and destroy innocent women and 
children ? If their bombs only blew up 
tyrants — I don't know about that ; you see, 
I'm a woman, and I never pretend to under- 
stand politics. America, of course, is a free 
country." (Essie really believed it) il IVe 
have no tyrants. And if all you tell me about 
tyrants is true, I can almost understand how 
people who have lost their own fathers or 
sons by the despots' commands, might do 
anything almost to get rid of such wretches. 
But this is a Republic, where people are 
quite free, and I don't know why the Friends 
of Liberty should want to kill poor, helpless 
souls, sitting by chance at a cafk — good folks 
who, perhaps, may hate the tyrants just as 
much as they do. I don't see the use of 
indiscriminate revolution," 

Stanislas ran his fingers gently over the 
smooth, bright locks. It was charming to 
hear her in defence of the bourgeoisie. The 
difference between their natures took his 
fancy, just its much as it had taken Essie's. 




" You don't understand these things, my 
child," he said, fondling her affectionately. 
"By-and-by, when you've lived a little 
longer in Europe, and when I've had time to 
unfold my ideas to you slowly, you'll take a 
more sensible view of the matter* But, after 
all, why discuss it ? Sit down in your chair 
by my side here, little one, and let me go on 
reading you those lines of Victor Hugo's." 

Still, for the next few weeks, in spite of 
what he said, a vague uneasiness oppressed 
poor Essie. It was dreadful f o think that 
dear Stanislas, who wouldn't himself have 
injured a mouse, should seem to palliate, and 
even to condone, the hateful crimes of these 
detestable Anarchists, It was dreadful, too, 
that he should speak of the people who per- 
petrated such acts by the same name as 
the one he applied to his own associates, the 
Friends of Freedom. Moreover, Essie 
noticed that during those next few weeks, 
while outrages were attempted in various 
parts of Paris, Stanislas went out more fre- 
quently than ever to his nocturnal meetings* 
Strange men came and went most mysteriously 
au sixikme. It quite distressed her. Dear 
Stanislas was so good, she knew he could 
find excuses for the wickedest creatures, and 
she loved him for his charity- But she 
urged upon him often that the Friends 
of Freedom should protest in the strongest 
possible terms against these hateful crimes 
that were now being perpetrated every day 
around them. The more earnestly she 
spoke, the more did Stanislas smile and 
pinch her little ear : but he answered 
gravely that she was quite right, and, 
if only he knew how, he would do his 
best to prevent such outrages. Yet what 
could he say that was of any avail ? 
They worked underground in darkness 
and silence : not even the police could 
discover the lairs of these secret con- 

So things went on for a week or two. 
To Essie's great delight, the more she 
talked about the wickedness of dynamite, 
the more frankly did Stanislas begin to 
agree with her* She could quite under- 
stand how his poetic mind, misled just 
at first by its hatred of tyrants, had 
failed to dwell enough at the earliest 
outset upon the atrocity of these out- 
rages. But it was all coming home to 
him. She hoped she had made him feel 
how wicked these men were, and had 
enlisted the sympathies of the Friends 
of Liberty on the side of the poor 
creatures who sat unthinking in the 

cafes or churches which the Anarchists 

At last, one night, a little incident happened 
which filled Essie's soul with unspeakable 
forebodings. It was a beautiful spring 
evening ; the horse-chestnuts were in bloom ; 
she leaned out of her window and looked 
forth upon the boulevard. All the world was 
promenading. In the distance she saw 
Stanislas, coming from the direction of the 
great corner fountain, and by his side 
another man, with whom he was talking 
earnestly. How handsome he looked^ and 
how vivid, dear Stanislas : she loved to see 
him when he talked with such eagerness. 
She watched them down the road ; they 
approached the house. Stanislas was carry - 
ing a basket with singular care. Essie 
followed them with her eyes till they 
reached the gateway. She heard them on 
the stairs, still conversing closely. Pure 
curiosity impelled her to go to her door 
which opened upon the landing, and say 
" Bomoir" to Stanislas, As she looked out, 
Stanislas's eyes caught hers- He raised his 
hat mechanically. As he did so, he gave a 
start. He seemed troubled and disquieted. 
For a second the basket almost dropped 

" STAB^P^sftjgqBppKC A BASKET/ 




from his hands; the other man caught it 
hastily away, with a gesture of horror not 
unmixed with anger. He said something 
aloud in Polish, which Essie did not under- 
stand. But she knew what it meant, for all 
that. It meant, " Take care, stupid ! " And 
then, after a pause, "That was a narrow 
escape, that time ! " 

Yet even so, she had no glimpse of the 
truth. She merely felt in some dim way 
this was a Friend of Liberty, and that 
Stanislas and he were engaged in animated 
political discussion. She slank back, abashed 
that she should have seemed to dear Stanislas 
to have been spying and eavesdropping. 
Her one strong feeling was a feeling of self- 
reproach for the obvious untimeliness of her 
awkward intervention. 

The man stopped upstairs in Stanislas's 
room for two long hours ; and Essie, listen- 
ing hard, could hear no voices. That was 
odd, for, as a rule, when dear Stanislas's 
friends came, be they Poles or painters, they 
were noisy enough in all conscience, as she 
could hear for herself without any need for 
listening. But this evening, not a sound. 
What on earth could it mean ? Essie's heart 
stood still. Could they be whispering to- 
gether ? And if whispering, what then ? 
Must not that mean plotting? Plotting to 
get rid of that terrible Czar ? Essie's tender 
little soul couldn't bear to think of it. 

At last the man went Essie heard Stanis- 
las come to the door to say " Good-night " to 
him. " Au revoir, camarade ! " " Au revoir, 
Laminski ! Courage, mon ami ! " and then 
— the heavy footsteps. 

As soon as they had died away, Essie 
could stand it no longer. She stole quietly 
upstairs, and knocked a gentle knock at 
Stanislas's door. There was a moment's 
pause ; then, slowly, hesitatingly, it opened 
an inch, and through that timid chink a white 
face looked out at her. Oh, so white and 
terrified ! Who could ever have believed 
Stanislas Laminski's face could grow in a 
moment so transforme. and unbeautified ? 
It frightened her to see it But as for 
Stanislas himself, after a second's pause he 
became suddenly calm ; his colour returned, 
and he burst out laughing. It was a foolish 
laugh, such as often comes upon one in the 
moment of reaction after a passing terror. 
" Ho, it's you, then, dear little one ? " he 
cried, much relieved, bundling something 
away hurriedly, and closing the cupboard 
door. " You took me by surprise. I thought 
it was the concierge, come to ask for my rent, 
which I hadn't got ready for him." 

Vol. viii.— 2a 


Essie looked in his face, and knew he was 
playing with her. But her own self-respect 
wouldn't allow her to say so to him. She 
only gave a glance of those innocent eyes, 
and asked him, earnestly : " Stanislas, you 
must tell me ! What had you just now on 
the stairs in that basket ? " 

He gazed at her once more with a tender 
yet mocking smile. " My little one," he 
said, " it was thus that Eve fell : you have 
too much curiosity. Eggs, eggs, my dear 
Essie ; and I was afraid of breaking them. 
See, here is the proof: I've been making an 
omelette for LorikofFs supper." And he held 
up the dish, a small frying-pan, before her. 

" Stanislas," she cried, drawing back, " you 
are deceiving me ! I know you are playing 
with me. You ought to tell me this. I can't 
think what to make of it." 

He laid his gentle hand on her bright 
head once more. " Essie, darling," he said, 
" I told you long ago, you don't under- 
stand, and will never understand, European 

She let him draw her to his side, and kiss 
her pale and troubled forehead. But that 
was all. Then she broke away from him, 
sobbing. With a heavy heart, she rushed 
downstairs to the lonely solitude of her own 
little bedroom. For the first time in her life, 
since she came to Paris, she was aware of 
her loneliness. Oh ! why had she ever left 
her dear, quiet Vermont to come and study 
art in this terrible Europe ? 

All night long she lay awake. Yet even 
so, she never for one moment suspected the 
worst. She never once realized it She only 
knew that Stanislas had some grave political 
secret he would not reveal to her, and she 
feared if she knew it she would greatly dis- 
approve of it 

Next day was Sunday. Stanislas had told 
her before he would be engaged next morn- 
ing, and she watched at the window to see 
him go out — sat and watched, she knew not 
why, in an agony of foreboding. At last she 
heard his step, light and resonant, on the 
staircase. He did not look in as he passed 
to say " Good-morning." That increased her 
suspicion, for 'twas Stanislas's way, even 
when going to his political meetings, to 
u take his sailing orders," as he playfully 
phrased it This time he went rapidly out, 
without saying a word, and emerged into the 
street He was carrying something in the 
pocket of his coat, nursing it tenderly as he 
went. Essie's heart stood still. What could 
Stanislas be bent upon ? 

She couldn't bear the suspense. She 





snatched up her hat and hurried eagerly 
after him. 

As for Stanislas himself, he was by no 
means in a hurry. He strolled gently along, 
selecting the least crowded side of the street, 
and carefully avoiding contact with anybody, 
Essie followed him, tmperceived, dogging his 
steps as he went, but pausing behind the 
trees that lined the boulevard whenever he 
looked behind him with a glance of caution. 
Even now, she hardly knew what it all could 
mean j she could not believe such horrors of 
anyone with whom she herself had mixed on 
ternis of affection. Her simple little New 
England mind could not grasp the full 
awesomeness of Continental Anarchy* 

Laminski crossed the Pont St Michel, 
with a careless glance at Notre Dame as he 
passed* and took his way along the quays of 
the North Bank, by the least crowded side, 
in the direction of the Louvre. Essie fol- 
lowed him, breathless, At the corner by 
St* Germain TAuxerrois, the man who had 
spent so long a time with him the night 
before stood idly lounging. Essie knew him 
in a moment As they passed one another, 
the tw r o men gave a nod of recognition, with 
a meaning glance. The stranger's eyes 
seemed to ask) M Is everything ready ? w 
Laminski's answered, mutely, " Yes, ready, 
quite ready." 

They took no further heed of one another; 
but Essie noticed that when Stanislas had 
passed on twenty yards or thereabouts* the 
other man followed him, just as she herself 
was doing, with an attentive air, as who should 
say, " I will watch that you do it." 

Stanislas turned aside towards the church 
doors of St. Germain. The bells chimed 
merrily. People were flocking in and out to 
mass, Essie stood still and trembled 

Stanislas took a little bottle- half imper- 
ceptibly between his left finger and thumb, 
and fumbled for a second with the unseen 
object in his coat pocket Then he turned 
round with a look of recognition and triumph 
toward the other man in the background. 
" See here," he seemed to say ; "lam keeping 
our compact." At the very same instant, his 
eye lighted on Essie, Suddenly his hand 
faltered ; his cheek grew pale ; the dare-devil 
look faded fast out of his eyes, and a terrible 
fear seemed to come over him at sight of 

Essie felt she must find out w T hat it meant. 
She rushed up to him imploringly. Stanislas 
held a long, round cylinder of iron in his 
hand With a gesture of fierce love Essie 
flung her arms round him. His face grew T 
deadly white. He tried to unwind her arms. 
" Take care, darling ! " he cried. " Run as 
far as you can |i 9 ilfajrf explodes, it kills you, 




It is not for such as you. Go, go ; it's 
loaded ! " 

He raised his arm to fling it A bomb ! a 
bomb ! Essie knew what it meant now. A 
ghastly light burst in upon her. These, then, 
were the methods of the Friends of Free^ 
dom ! She seized his hand in her horror. 

" Stanislas," she cried, wildly, ** you shall 
not do it You shall not burden your soul 


with that awful crime. Though I die, I will 
save them. Though I die, I will save you, 1 * 
And she caught it in her hands and tore it 
fiercely away from him. 

4i Essie, Essie," he shrieked, in an access 
of mad remorse, * £ it's going to burst ! Fling 
it away ! Fling it away from you ! " 

But Essie held it still, and rushed out with 
a sudden thrill of heroic resolve into the wide 
open space between St, Ger- 
main and the Louvre. She 
waved one arm around, "Dan- 
ger ! Danger ! " she shouted 
The crowd, aghast, fell 
back to left and right 
Stanislas rushed after her r 
and strove to wrench it from 
her grasp. But just as he 
approached her, Essie dashed 
it on the pavement by the 
rails of the Louvre, well away 
from the crowd of awe-struck 
people, Whatever cam^ of 
it, she would save those 
innocent lives, she would 
save that guilty soul from the 
consequences of its own un- 
holy endeavour. 

A crash ! A flash ! A 
white cloud of dense smoke ! 
Stanislas Laminski clapped 
his hands before his face, 
Essie stood there, immova- 
ble. When the cloud cleared 
away, broken fragments 
littered the pavement by the 
rails , and two bleeding 
corpses lay mangled on the 
ground — Laminski's and 
Essie's. Not one other was 
hurt. She had saved the 

"She meant to set fire to 
the Louvre," said the papers; 
"but, owing to a fortunate 
scuffle with her accomplice, 
the bomb exploded prema- 

by Google 

Original from 


Now, after I have classified 
and displayed many things in a 
system of confusion proper to 
ir>y want of design, at the end 
there remain many old friends, 
from the woolly llama that lives 
by Tom, the white camel, to 
the vagrant mouse that steals 
pinches of the porcupines din- 
ner. Some are in the 
catalogue, many are 
not There is an old 

horse that drags a refuse cart, 
and, having been here for years, 
is past all surprising, He would 
plod past a two-headed dragon, 
or a unicorn with a fiery tail, in 
the same state of calmness in 
which he plods past Jim the 
rhinoceros or Jack the bison. 
Far different is it with the vener- 
able canal horses that tramp 


nS^./ Original from 



resignedly by the Regent's Canal, 
where it cuts the Gardens in two. 
They see nothing, for that costs a 
shilling, and the Society spend many 
shillings in fences ; but they hear, 
and most of all they hear the parrots 
when they hang out for an airing 
on a warm day. There is a 
wicked old blue macaw — a fine, 
big fellow, whose name should be 
Blue Peter — who tricks the un- 
happy canal horses all day ; shout- 
ing ^ Wo-0-0-0 ! ?I at the top of 
his voice ? and chuckling with unholy 
delight when the angular % j ictim 
welcomes the opportunity for a rest 

Some creatures there are that are 
uncatalogued because they hold 
official positions. Such are Nell, 
Church's terrier, divers cats, and 
the matronly old hens that hatch 
out eggs for rarer birds. The fat 
importance of one old Cochin hen 
and the tremendous number and 


' If AD HIM ACATN \ " 

<---. ^ 
thickness of her 
garments make 
out a complete 
claim on bur 
behalf to be 
called Mrs, 
(lamp, Mrs. 

Gamps must be a lift- of surprises. Fur a respectable suburban 
hen of the strictest propriety and the most regular and orderly 
habits is naturally surprised when a long and conscientious sitting 
results in a brood of spindly cranes or an ear-splitting choir of 
laughing jackasses. It shocks her sense of the proper and respect- 
able, and confuses her orderly intellect. For in her suburban 
intelligence what is eccentric is disreputable, and so she trots 


i 5 o 


about distracted, half afraid of her family and half of 
the gallinaceous Mrs. Grundy, The life is undermining 
her nervous system* No hen's nervous system will 
stand an eternal uncertainty as to whether a particular 
egg will turn to a thing all beak, or a thing all legs, 
thing to swim, a thing to run, or a thing to fly 
a reserve possibility that it may turn to a 
snake or a lizard. There is dignity in Mrs. 
Gamp's official position, I grant ; but it is a 
wearing work, hatching out a perpetual suc- 
cession of nightmares. 

In the Zoo you may find curiosities on 
both sides of the bars. On the human side 
there are, at least, as many as on the other. 
Maybe a company of sailors, who go to a 
show for a laugh, and guffaw conscientiously 
at everything, to the intense scandal of the 




serious creatures, like Bob 
the Bactrian and most of 
the owls : or a worthy 
group of country cousins, 
each brimming over with 
perfect ignorance of any 
animal more recondite 
than a cow, and imparting 
their mis-information to 
each other with gTeat free- 
dom and confidence. 
The intelligent foreigner 
comes here, too, in those 

peculiar felt and straw hats that only he knows how to get ; hats often with little cockades of 

feathers stuck in the sidis of the bands. He begins at house number one, and solemnly and 

diligently broods over each animal in succession, to the very 

last in house sixty-four. He is fat of face, and usually wears 

spectacles. Also there is the unhappy elementary school, 

sternly marshalled in a trotting column and dragged neck 

and crop through the grounds for the enlargement of their 

information and the improvement of their beraddled minds ; 

whom the unbending schoolmaster impels over the gravel 

paths at the pace calculated to get them out of the gate 

within the time allowed for their free visit j and whose pre- 
cise acquisitions in zoology on the run, and impressions of 

the whole business in general, one would rather like to 


But pre-eminent, perkiest, cheekiest of all things not in 



Qfiginal from 




the catalogue, is the sparrow. He flies casually to 
and fro among wolves, tigers, and leopards* with an 
airy confidence and self-sufficiency that nothing 

' AH h J1H, DEAH BOY ! " 

"morsin 1 , dvke! feei. chippy?" 

ciple that his exalted position carries with it certain 
social duties which he must not neglect, he makes a 
flying call on Duke, the Nubian lion, and patronizes 

bigger than a sparrow 
can imitate. He drops 
in casually on Tom, the 
big tiger, as he takes 
his afternoon nap in his 
back-yard, and bounces 
to and fro under Tom's 
nose, discussing zoo- 
logical politics on a foot- 
ing of perfect equality, 
and disturbing Tom's 
nap. Feeling his vast 
importance, and quite 
recognising the prin- 

©rrginal fron 




him with the proper grace, suggesting various impossible alterations in 
regimen by way of improving Duke's digestion and mending his 
temper. He hops across the Gardens and discusses the prospects of 
the hay-crop with Jim the rhinoceros, who is dietetically interested in 
the matter; then, having swaggered past the retiring mice who 
assume a residuary interest in Jim's dinner, he hangs about a little 
at a bar — partly because it is the nobby thing, and partly because 
of the crumbs — and so across Regent's Park and off to a cricket 
match at Lord's. 

But there are crea- 
tures that have not 
been spoken of in 
these pages, yet still 
have respectable posi- 
tions in the catalogue. 
Instance the llamas 
and guanacos. I am 
not fond of the gua- 
naco. He spits — and 
with an accurate aim. 
Take care how you 
rouse the ire of the guanaco, 
for he spits suddenly 
without warning. You 
rouse his ire in many hundreds of thousands of ways, 
By wearing a peculiar hat or an ordinary hat ; walk 



ing quietly or with a swagger, or 
running or sitting or standing still ; 
by speaking, shouting, or remain- 
ing silent, or by existing in the 
same world ; and, his ire roused, 
he promptly spits, while Tom, the 
wicked old white camel next door, 

looks on with delighted 

approval. He would spit 

himself if he could, but 

prefers biting. 

Then there is the secre- 
tary bird, with his many 

quills and his smart, War 

Office air. He has caused 

many a pitched zoological 

battle over the question 

whether he is a stork or a 
approbation. hawk ; and his own battles 

with snakes cover him with 
glory and fill him with snake. He struts smartly about, plainly 
a secretary who knows his business and will stand no nonsense. 
There are all the stags, finest and largest and most disdainful 
of all being the wapiti. But a stag is always in a preliminary 
and incipient state of weeping, in spite of his assumption af toa^mart secretary. 



4^ J 




"side," and until he becomes veni- 
son is really an uninteresting crea- 
ture. Some day, perhaps, he will 
pro(>erly make up his mind and 
have a good cry and get it over. 
Then he may turn his mind to 
something else and take a worthy 


■i _,„,, t» 

position in society- As it is, the stag at bqst, if he has any definite character at all, is a 
hypocrite. He poses as the beautiful, mild, benignant, timid, loving and oppressed creature, 
and is at heart a savage. Worthy and well-meaning people, with soft hearts and heads of 
blubber, sob and squeal because he is hunted. He is such a darling, timid, trustful creature, 
say they, and to hunt him is the act of cowardly brutality. Now, I challenge any of these 
kind people to approach a group of the mildest park deer, any day late in August, select a 

quiet-looking buck, and attempt, in the 
most friendly way, to pat or stroke him, 
I am not particular as to the sort of deer- 
big red deer or little roebuck- but I hope 
the challenge won't be accepted, because 
the worthy adventurer will probably ex- 
perience a dig in the ribs that will cause him 
: ^^^Jf \ i\v zK^?'j/ a ride home on a hurdle. I say nothing 

of wilder deer. Verb* sat sap. Still, the 
stag is a characterless creature. There is 
even more charac- 
ter in the yak, just 
opposite, mild creature 
as it is, with its old 
womanish air of coddl- 
ing in its black silk 
shawl, and its pathetic 

Also there are the Bar- 
bar)' wild sheep, who 
turn up in all sorts of 
unexpected corners of 
the place. There is 
something truculently 
timid, savagciv mildyri 


Vol. viii.— 21. 




Barbary wild sheep. 
It begins like thun- 
der and dies away 
lik^a zephyr, t Jt re- 
minds one of Sidney 
Smith's lethally- 
preaching Wild 

But behold, I 
have forgotten some 
of the most noble of 
the uncatalogued ; 
chief among them 
Nell, Church's fox- 
terrier, who (herself 
and her numerous 
descendants) makes 
deaciW war on the 
uncatalogued, un- 
housed, uninvited 
undesired rats> them- 
selves a large part of 
the population of 
this place, and a 
destructive. An 

excellent official is 
Nell, honest, dili- 
gent, and with quick 
jaws. But no less 
worthy in their way 
are the regiment of 
battle-scarred cats, 
terrors among mice 
and rats both. Chief 
among these is Mr. 
Toots, of the camel- 
house, the intimate 
friend of Bob the 
Bactrian ; and the 
elephant-house cat 
and the ostrich- 
house cat occupy 
high positions. But 
many a stout heart 
beats quicker at tho 
smell of mouse be- 
neath the fur of the 
more obscure rank 
and file of the un- 
catalogued cats. 


$»jit*i jSt 

by Google 

Original from 

Martin Hewitt, Investigator, 

By Arthur Morrison, 

T is now a fair number of years 
back since the loss of the 
famous Stan way Cameo made 
its sensation, and the only 
person who had the least inter- 
est in keeping the real facts of 
the case secret has now been dead for some 
time, leaving neither relatives nor other 
representatives* Therefore no harm will be 
done in making the inner history of the case 
public ; on the contrary, it will afford an 
opportunity of vindicating the professional 
reputation of Hewitt, who is supposed to 
have completely failed to make anything of 
the mystery surrounding the case. At the 
present time connoisseurs in ancient objects 
of art are often heard regretfully to wonder 
whether the wonderful cameo — so suddenly 
discovered and so quickly stolen— will ever 
again be visible to the public eye. Now this 
question need be asked no longer. 

The cameo, as may 
be remembered from 
the many descriptions 
published at the time, 
was said to be abso- 
lutely the finest extant 
It was a sardonyx of 
three strata — one of 
those rare sardonyx 
cameos in which it has 
been possible for the 
artist to avail himself of 
three different colours 
of superimposed stone 
—the lowest for the 
ground and the two 
others for the middle 
and high relief of the 
design. In size it was, 
for a cameo, immense, 
measuring seven and a 
half inches by nearly 
six. In subject it was 
similar to the renowned 
Gonzaga Cameo — now 
the property of the Czar 
of Russia — a male and 
a female head with 
Imperial insignia ; but 
in this case supposed 
to represent Tiberius 
Claudius and Messa- 

Una, Experts considered it probably to be 
the work of Athenion, a famous gem-cutter 
of the first Christian century, whose most 
notable other work now extant is a smaller 
cameo, with a mythological subject, preserved 
in the Vatican, 

The Stamvay Cameo had been discovered 
in an obscure I Lilian village by one of those 
travelling agents who scour all Europe for 
valuable antiquities and objects of art This 
man had hurried immediately to London with 
his prize and sold it to Mr, Claridge, of St. 
James's Street, eminent as a dealer in such 
objects. Mr. Claridge, recognising the 
importance and value of the article, lost no 
opportunity of making its existence known, 
and very soon the Claudius Cameo, as it was 
at first usually called, was as famous as any 
in the world. Many experts in ancient art 
examined it, and several large bids were made 
fur its purchase. In the end it was bought 




by the Marquis of Stanway for ,£5,000 for 
the purpose of presentation to the British 
Museum. The Marquis kept the cameo at 
his town house for a few days, showing it to 
his friends, and then returned it to Mr. 
Claridge to be finally and carefully cleaned 
before passing into the national collection* 
Two nights after, Mr. Claridge's premises 
were broken into and the cameo stolen. 

Such, in outline, was the generally known 
history of the Stanway Cameo. The circuit 
stances of the burglary in detail were these : 
Mr. Claridge had himself been the last to 
leave the premises at about eight in the 
evening, at dusk, and h:id locked the small 
side door as usual* His assistant, Mr Cutler, 
had left an hour and a half earlier. When 
Mr. Claridge left everything was in order, 
and the policeman on fixed point duty just 
opposite, who bade Mr. Claridge good 
evening as he left, saw nothing suspicious 
during the rest of his term of duty, nor did 
his successors at the point throughout the 

In the morning, however, Mr. Cutler, the 
assistant, who arrived first, soon after nine 
o'clock, at once perceived that something 
unlooked-for had hap- 
pened. The door, of 
which he had a key, was 
still fastened, and had 
not been touched ; but 
in the room behind the 
shop Mr, Claridge's pri- 
vate desk had been 
broken open, and the 
contents turned out in 
confusion, The door 
leading on to the staircase 
had also been forced. 
Proceeding up the stairs, 
Mr. Cutler found another 
door open, leading from 
the top landing to a small 
room — this door had 
been opened by the sim- 
ple expedient of unscrew r - 
ing and taking off the 
lock, which had been on 
the inside. In the ceiling 
of this roopi was a trap- 
door, and thfe w j as six or 
eight inches open, the 
edge resting on the half- 
wren ched-off bolt, which 
had been torn away when 
the trap was levered open 

from the outside. 

Plaftjly, then, this was 




the path of the thief or thieves. Entrance 
had been made through the trap-door, two 
more doors had been opened, and then the 
desk had been ransacked. Mr. Cutler after- 
wards explained that at this time he had no 
precise idea what had been stolen, and did 
not know where the cameo had been left on 
the previous evening* Mr* Claridge had him- 
self undertaken the cleaning and had been 
engaged on it, the assistant said, when he 

There was no doubt, however* after Mr. 
Claridge's arrival at ten o'clock : the cameo 
was gone. Mr, Claridge, utterly confounded 
at his loss, explained incoherently, and with 
curses on his own carelessness, that he had 
locked the precious article in his desk on 
relinquishing work on it the previous even- 
ing, feeling rather tired and not taking the 
trouble to carry it as far as the safe in 
another part of the house, 

The police were sent for at once, of course* 
and every investigation made, Mr. Claridge 
offering a reward of ^500 for the recovery 
of the cameo, The affair was scribbled of 
at large in the earliest editions of the evening 
papers, and by noon all the world was aware 
of the extraordinary theft 
of the Stanway Cameo, 
and many people were 
discussing the probabili- 
ties of the case, with very 
indistinct ideas of what 
a sardonyx cameo pre- 
cisely was. 

It was in the afternoon 
of this day that Lord 
Stanway called on Martin 
Hewitt- ' The Marquis 
was a tall, upstanding 
man of spare figure and 
active habits, well known 
as a member of learned 
societies and a great 
patron of art. He hur- 
ried into Hewitt's private 
room as soon as his name 
had been announced, 
and, as soon as Hewitt 
had given him a chair, 
plunged into business, 

"Probably you al- 
ready guess my business 
with you, Mr. Hewitt — 
you have seen the early- 
evening papers ? Just so; 

iginalton 1 {j 8 ?** *? !? 


you already 
y cameo is 



gone, and I badly want it back. Of course, 
the police are hard at work at Claridge's, but 
I'm not quite satisfied. I have been there 
myself for two or three hours, and can't see 
that they know any more about it than I do 
myself. Then, of course, the police, naturally 
and properly enough from their point of 
view, look first to find the criminal — regard- 
ing the recovery of the property almost as a 
secondary consideration. Now, from my 
point of view, the chief consideration is the 
property. Of course I want the thief caught, 
if possible, and properly punished ; but still 
more, I want the cameo." 

" Certainly it is a considerable loss. Five 
thousand pounds " 

"Ah, but don't misunderstand me. It 
isn't the monetary value of the thing that I 
regret. As a matter of fact, I am indemni- 
fied for that already. Claridge has behaved 
most honourably — more than honourably. 
Indeed, the first intimation I had of the loss 
was a cheque from him for ,£5,000, with a 
letter assuring me that the restoration to me 
of the amount I had paid was the least he 
could do to repair the result of what he 
called his unpardonable carelessness. Legally, 
I'm not sure that I could demand anything 
of him, unless I could prove very flagrant 
neglect indeed to guard against theft." 

" Then I take it, Lord Stanway," Hewitt 
observed, " that you much prefer the cameo 
to the money ? " 

"Certainly. Else I should never have 
been willing to pay the money for the cameo. 
It was an enormous price — perhaps much 
• abDve the market value, even for such a 
valuable thing ; but I was particularly anxious 
that it should not go out of the country. Our 
public collections here are not so fortunate 
as they should be in the possession of the 
very finest examples of that class of work. 
In short, I had determined on the cameo, 
and, fortunately, happen to be able to carry 
out determinations of that sort without 
regarding an extra thousand pounds or so as 
an obstacle. So that, you see, what I want is 
not the value, but the thing itself. Indeed, 
I don't think I can possibly keep the money 
Claridge has sent me — the affair is more his 
misfortune than his fault. But I shall say 
nothing about returning it for a little while : 
it may possibly have the effect of sharpening 
everybody in the search. " 

"Just so. Do I understand that you 
would like me to look into the case indepen- 
dently, on your behalf?" 

"Exactly. I want you, if you can, to 
approach the matter entirely from my point 

of view — your sole object being to find the 
cameo. Of course, if you happen on the 
thief as well, so much the better. Perhaps, 
after all, looking for the one is the same thing 
as looking for the other ? " 

" Not always ; but usually it is, of course — 
even if they are not together, they certainly 
have been at one time, and to have one is 
a very long step toward having the other. 
Now, to begin with, is anybody suspected ? " 

"Well, the police are reserved, but I 
believe the fact is they've nothing to say. 
Claridge won't admit that he suspects anyone, 
though he believes that whoever it was must 
have watched him yesterday evening through 
the back window of his room, and must have 
seen him put the cameo away in his desk ; 
because the thief would seem to have gone 
straight to the place. But I half fancy 
that, in his inner mind, he is inclined to 
suspect one of two people. You see, a 
robbery of this sort is different from others. 
That cameo would never be stolen, I imagine, 
with the view of its being sold — it is much 
too famous a thing ; a man might as well 
walk about offering to sell the Tower of 
London. There are only a very few people 
who buy such things, and every one of them 
knows ail about it No dealer would touch 
it — he could never even show it, much less 
sell it, without being called to account. So 
that it really seems more likely that it has 
been taken by somebody who wishes to keep 
it for mere love of the thing — a collector, in 
fact — who would then have to keep it secretly 
at home, and never let a soul beside himself 
see it, living in the consciousness that at his 
death it must be found and his theft known ; 
unless, indeed, an ordinary vulgar burglar 
has taken it without knowing its value." 

"That isn't likely," Hewitt replied. "An 
ordinary burglar, ignorant of its value, 
wouldn't have gone straight to the cameo 
and have taken it in preference to many 
other things of more apparent worth, which 
must be lying near in such a place as 

" True— I suppose he wouldn't Although 
the police seem to think that the breaking in 
is clearly the work of a regular criminal — 
from the jemmy marks, you fcnow, and so 

" Well, but what of the two people you 
think Mr. Claridge suspects ? " 

" Of course, I can't say that he does suspect 
them — I only fancied from his tone that it 
might be possible ; he himself insists that he 
can't in justice suspect anybody. One of 
these men is Hahn, the travelling agent who 



sold him the cameo. This man's character 
does not appear to be absolutely irreproachable 
— no dealer trusts him very far. Of course, 
Claridge doesn't say what he paid him for 
the cameo — these dealers are very reticent 
about their profits, which I believe are 
as often something like 500 per cent. 
as not. But it seems Hahn bargained to 
have something extra, depending on the 
amount Claridge could sell the carving for. 
According to the appointment he should have 
turned up this morning, but he hasn't been 
seen, and nobody seems to know exactly 
where he is." 

" Yes ; and the other person ? " 

"Well, I scarcely like mentioning him, 
because he is certainly a gentleman, and I 
believe, in the ordinary way, quite incapable 
of anything in the least degree dishonourable ; 
although, of course, they say a collector has 
no conscience in the matter of his own 
particular hobby, and certainly Mr. Woollett 
is as keen a collector as any man alive. He 
lives in chambers in the next turning past 
Claridge's premises — can, in fact, look into 
Claridge's back windows if he likes. He 
examined the cameo several times before I 
bought it, and made several high offers 
— appeared, in fact, very anxious indeed to 
get it. After I had bought it, he made, I 
understand, some rather strong remarks 
about people like myself 'spoiling the 
market' by paying extravagant prices, and 
altogether cut up 'crusty/ as they say, at 
losing the specimen." Lord Stanway paused 
for a few seconds, and then went on : " I'm 
not sure that I ought to mention Mr. 
Woollett's name for a moment in connection 
with such a matter — I am personally perfectly 
certain that he is as incapable of anything 
like theft as myself. But I am telling you 
all I know." 

" Precisely. I can't know too much in a 
case like this. It can do no harm if I know 
all about fifty innocent people, and may save 
me from the risk of knowing nothing about 
the thief. Now, let me see : Mr. Woollett's 
rooms, you say, are near Mr. Claridge's place 
of business ? Is there any means of com- 
munication between the roofs ? " 

" Yes, I am told that it is perfectly possible 
to get from one place to the other by walking 
along the leads." 

" Very good. Then, unless you can think 
of any other information that may help me, I 
think, Lord Stanway, I will go at once and 
look at the place." 

" Do, by all means. I think I'll come 
back with you. Somehow, I don't like to 

feel idle in the matter, though I suppose I 
can't do much. As to more information — I 
don't think there is any." 

" In regard to Mr. Claridge's assistant, 
now : do you know anything of him ? " 

" Only that he has always seemed a very 
civil and decent sort of man. Honest, I 
should say, or Claridge wouldn't have 
kept him so many years — there are a 
good many valuable things about at 
Claridge's. Besides, the man has keys of the 
place himself, and even if he were a thief he 
wouldn't need to go breaking in through the 

"So that," said Hewitt, "we have, directly 
connected with this cameo, besides yourself, 
these people : Mr. Claridge, the dealer, Mr. 
Cutler, the assistant in Mr. Claridge's 
bu r; ness, Hahn, who sold the article to 
Claridge, and Mr. Woollett, who made bids 
for it These are all ? " 

"All that I know of. Other gentlemen 
made bids, I believe, but I don't know 

" Take these people in their order. Mr. 
Claridge is out of the question, as a dealer 
with a reputation to keep up would be, 
even if he hadn't immediately sent you this 
^5,000 — more than the market value, I 
understand, of the cameo. The assistant is 
a reputable man, against whom nothing is 
known, who would never need to break in, 
and who must understand his business well 
enough to know that he could never attempt 
to sell the missing stone without instant 
detection. Hahn is a man of shady antece- 
dents, probably clever enough to know as 
well as anybody how to dispose of such 
plunder — if it be possible to dispose of it at 
all ; also, Hahn hasn't been to Claridge's 
to-day, although he had an appointment to 
take money. Lastly, Mr. Woollett is a gentle- 
man of the most honourable record, but a 
perfectly rabid collector, who had made every 
effort to secure the cameo before you bought 
it ; who, moreover, could have seen Mr. 
Claridge working in his back room, and who 
has perfectly easy access to Mr. Claridge's 
roof. If we find it can be none of these, 
then we must look where circumstances 

There was unwonted excitement at Mr. 
Claridge's place when Hewitt and his client 
arrived. It was a dull old building, and in 
the windows there was never more show than 
an odd blue china vase or two, or, mayhap, a 
few old silver shoe-buckles and a curious 
small-sword. 'Nine men out of ten would have 
passed lit: without a glance ; but the tenth at 



least would probably know it for a place 
famous through the world for the number and 
value of the old and curious objects of art 
that had passed through it. 

On this day two or three loiterers, having 
heard of the robbery, extracted what gratifica- 
tion they might from staring at nothing 
between the railings guarding the windows. 
Within, Mr. Claridge, a brisk, stout, little old 
man, was talking earnestly to a burly police 
inspector in uniform, and Mr. Cutler, who 
had seized the opportunity to attempt 


amateur detective work on his own account, 
was grovelling perseveringly about the floor 
among old porcelain and loose pieces of 
armour in the futile hope of finding any clue 
that the thieves might have considerately 

Mr, Claridge came forward eagerly, 

"The leather case has been found, I am 
pleased to be able to tell you, Lord Stanway, 
since you left." 

u Empty, of course ? n 

"Unfortunately, yes. It had evidently 
been thrown away by the thief behind a 

chimney-stack a roof or two away, where the 
police have found it But it is a clue, of 

" Ah, then this gentleman will give ir i his 
opinion of it," Lord Stanway said, turning to 
Hewitt "This, Mr. Claridge, is Mr. Martin 
Hewitt, who has been kind enough to come 
with me here at a moment's notice. With 
the police on the one hand, and Mr. Hewitt 
on the other, we shall certainly recover that 
cameo if it is to be recovered, I think." 
Mr. Claridge bowed, and beamed on 
Hewitt through his spectacles. 
"I'm very glad Mr, Hewitt 
has come/' he said. " Indeed, 
I had already decided to give 
k the police till this time to 

k^b morrow , and then, if they had 

found nothing, to call in Mr, 
Hewitt myself" 

Hewitt bowed in his turn, 
and then asked, "Will you 
let me see the various break- 
ages ? I hope they have not 
been disturbed/* 

"Not hing wha te ver has 
been disturbed. Do exactly 
as seems best — I need 
scarcely say that everything 
here is perfectly at your dis- 
posal You know all the 
circumstances, of course ? 3I 

"In general, yes, I sup- 
pose I am right in the belief 
that you have no resident 
housekeeper ? " 

" No," Claridge replied, " I 
haven't. I had one house- 
keeper who sometimes 
pawned my property in the 
evening, and then another 
who used to break my most 
valuable china, till I could 
never sleep or take a moment's 
ease at home for fear my 
stock was being ruined here. 
So I gave up resident housekeepers, I felt 
some confidence in doing it, because of the 
policeman who is always on duty opposite. 1 * 
" Can I see the broken desk ? " 
Mr, Claridge led the way into the room 
behind the shop. The desk was really a soit 
of work-table, with a lifting top and a lock. 
The top had been forced roughly open by 
some instrument which had been pushed in 
below it and used as a lever, so that the catch 
of the lock was torn away. Hewitt examined 
the damaged parts and the marks of the lever, 
and tltlNfc'lEfbktd uuft MliHrH* ba^k window. 



" There are several windows about here," 
he remarked, u from which it might be 
possible to see into this room, Do you 
know any of the people who live behind 

"Two or three I know," Mr- Claridge 
answered, " but there are two windows 
the pair almost immediately before us — 
belonging to a room or office which is to 
let Any stranger might get in there and 

11 Do the roofs above any of those windows 
communicate in any way with yours ? " 

" None of those directly opposite. Those 
at the left do — you may walk all the way 
along the leads." 

u And whose windows are they ? " 

Mr. Claridge hesitated. " Well," he said, 
" they're Mr, Woollett's— an excellent cus- 
tomer of mine. But he's a gentleman and — 
well, I really think it's absurd to suspect 

"In a case like this,* Hewitt answered, 
"one must disregard nothing but the im- 
possible. Somebody — whether Mr, Woollett 
himself or another person — could possibly 
have seen into this room from those windows, 
and equally possibly could have reached this 
roof from that one, Therefore, we must not 
forget Mr. Wool- 
lett. Have any of 
your neighbours 
been burgled dur- 
ing the night ? I 
mean that stran- 
gers anxious to get 
at your trap-door 
would probably 
have to begin by 
getting into some 
other house close 
by, so as to reach 
your root" 

"No," Mr. Cla- 
ridge replied ; 
"there lias been 
nothing of that 
sort It was the first 
thing the police 

Hewitt ex- 
amined the broken 
door and then 
made his way up 
the stairs, with the 
others. The un- 
screwed lock of the 
door of the top 
back room re- 

quired little examination. In the room, below 
the trap-door, was a dusty table on which 
stood a chair, and at the other side of the 
table sat Detective-Inspector Plummor, whom 
Hewitt knew very well, and who bade him 
" good day J and then went on with his 

" This chair and table were found as they 
are now, I take it ? " Hewitt asked. 

" Yes/' said Mr. Claridge ; "the thieves, 
I should think, dropped in through the trap- 
door, after breaking it open, and had to 
place this chair where it is to be able to 
climb back," 

Hewitt scrambled up through the trap- way 
and examined it from the top* The door 
was hung on long external barn-door hinges, 
and had been forced open in a similar 
manner to that practised on the desk. A 
jemmy had been pushed between the frame 
and the door near the bolt, and the door had 
been prised open, the bolt being torn away 
from the screws in the operation. 

Presently, Inspector Plummer, having 
finished his docket, climbed up to the roof 
after Hewitt, and the two together went to 
the spot, close under a chimney-stack on the 
next roof but one, where the case had been 
found Plummer produced the case, which 

Ungmal tronn 



he had in his coat-tail pocket, for Hewitt's 

" I don't see anything particular about it ; 
do you?" he said. "It shows us the way 
they went, though, being found just here." 

" Well, yes," Hewitt said ; " if we kept on 
in this direction we should be going towards 
Mr. Woollett's house, and his trap -door, 
shouldn't we ? " 

The inspector pursed his lips, smiled, and 
shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, we 
haven't waited till now to find that out," 
he said. 

" No, of course.* And, as you say, I don't 
think there is mucfr to be learned from this 
leather case. It is "almost new, and there 
isn't a mark on it." And Hewitt handed it 
back to the inspector. 

" Well," said Plummer, as he returned the 
case to his pocket, " what's your opinion ? " 

" It's rather an awkward case." 

" Yes, it is. Between ourselves, I don't 
mind telling you, I'm having a sharp look- 
out kept over there " — Plummer jerked his 
head in the direction of Mr. Woollen's 
chambers — "because the robbery's an unusual 
one. There's only two possible motives — 
the sale of the cameo or the keeping of it. 
The sale's out of the question, as you know 
— the thing's only saleable to those who 
would collar the thief at once, and who 
wouldn't have the thing in their places now 
for anything. So that it must be taken to 
keep — and that's a thing nobody but the 
maddest of collectors would do — just such 

persons as " and the inspector nodded 

again towards Mr. Woollett's quarters. " Take 
that with the other circumstances," he added, 
"and I think you'll agree it's worth while 
looking a little farther that way. Of course, 
some of the work — taking off the lock and so 
on — looks rather like a regular burglar, but 
it's just possible that anyone badly wanting 
the cameo would hire a man who was up to 
the work." 

" Yes, it's possible." 

" Do you know anything of Hahn, the 
agent ? " Plummer asked, a moment later. 

11 No, I don't. Have you found him yet ? " 

" I haven't yet, but I'm after him. I've 
found he ^as at Charing Cross a day or two 
ago, booking a ticket for the Continent. 
That and his failing to turn up to-day seem 
to make it worth while not to miss him if we 
can help it. He isn't the sort of man that 
lets a chance of drawing a bit of money go 
for nothing." 

They returned to the room. " Well," said 
Lord Stanway, "what's the result of the 

Vol. V!!i -22. 

consultation ? We've been waiting here very 
patiently while you two clever men have been 
discussing the matter on the roof." 

On the wall just beneath the trap-door a 
very dusty old tall hat hung on a peg. This 
Hewitt took down and examined very closely, 
smearing his fingers with the dust from the 
inside lining. " Is this one of your valuable 
and crusted old antiques ? " he asked, with a 
smile, of Mr. Claridge. 

" That's only an old hat tha* I used to keep 
here for use in bad weather," Mr. Claridge 
said, with some surprise at the question. " I 
haven't touched it for a year or more." 

" Oh, then it couldn't have been left here 
by your last night's visitor," Hewitt replied, 
carelessly replacing it on the hook. "You 
left here at eight last night, I think ? n 

" Eight exactly — or within a minute or 

"Just so. I think 111 look at the room 
on the opposite side of the landing, if you'll 
let me." 

"Certainly, if you'd like to," Claridge 
replied ; " but they haven't been there — it is 
exactly as it was left. Only a lumber-room, 
you see," he concluded, flinging the door 

A number of partly broker>up packing- 
cases littered about this roonr^ with much 
other rubbish. Hewitt took the lid of one 
of the newest-looking packing-cases, and 
glanced at the address label. Then he 
turned to a rusty old iron box that stood 
against a wall. " I should like to see behind 
this," he said, tugging at it with his hands. 
" It is heavy and dirty. Is there a small 
crowbar about the house, or some similar 

Mr. Claridge shook his head. " Haven't 
such a thing in the place," he said. 

" Never mind," Hewitt re^ed, " another 
time will do to shift that old box, and 
perhaps after all there's little reason for 
moving it. I will just walk round to the 
police-station, I think, and speak to the 
constables who were on duty opposite during 
the night. I think, Lord Stanway, I have 
seen all that is necessary here." 

"I suppose," asked Mr. Claridge, "it is 
too soon yet to ask if you have formed 
any theory in the matter ? " 

" Well — yes, it is," Hewitt answered. 
" But perhaps I may be able to surprise you 
in an hour or two ; but that I don't promise. 
By-the-bye," he added, suddenly, " I suppose 
you're sure the trap-door was bolted last 

n^t?" original frcrn* • 

" Certainly, ' Mr. Claridge answered, 



smiling. " Else how could the bolt have 
been broken ? As a matter of fact, 1 believe 
the trap hasn't been opened for months. 
Mr. Cutler, do you remember when the trap- 
door was last opened ? " 

Mr. Cutler shook his head. "Certainly 
not for six months," he said, 

"Ah, very well— it's not very important," 
Hewitt replied. 

As they reached the front shop, a fiery- 
faced old gentleman bounced in at the street 
door, stumbling over an umbrella that stood 
in a dark corner, 
and kicking it three 
yards away. 

** What the deuce 
do you mean," he 
roared at Mr. Cla- 
ridge, " by sending 
these police people 
smelling about my 
rooms and asking 
questions of my ser- 
vants ? What do 
you mean , sir, by 
treating me as a 
thief? Can't a gen- 
tleman come into 
this place to look at 
an article without 
being suspected of 
stealing it, when it 
disappears through 
your wretched care- 
lessness? Ill ask 
my solicitor, sir, if 
there isn't a remedy 
for this sort of 
thing. And if I 
catch another of 
your spy fellows on 
my staircase, or 
crawling about my 
roof, III— I'll shoot 
him : " 

"Really, Mr. 
Woollett," began 

Mr. Claridge, somewhat abashed, hut the 
angry old man would hear nothing. 

li Doivt talk to me, sir -you shall talk to 
my solicitor. And am I to understand, my 
lord " — turning to Lord Stan way - - ' - that 
these things are being done with your 
approval ? " 

"Whatever is being done," Lord Stan way 
answered, "is being done by the police on 
their own responsibility, and entirely without 
prompting, I believe, by Mr. Claridge — 
certainly without a suggestion of any sort 



from myself. I think that the personal 
opinion of Mr, Claridge — certainly my own — 
is that anything like a suspicion of your 
position in this wretched matter is ridiculous. 
And if you will only consider the matter 

calmly " 

" Consider it calmly? Imagine yourself con- 
sidering such a thing calmly, I,ord Stan way. 
I won 1 } consider it calmly. Ml— Til — I won't 
have it And if I find another man on my 
roof, 111 pitch him off.' And Mr. Woollett 
bounced into the street again. 

" Mr. Woollett 
is annoyed," Hewitt 
observed, with a 
smile, "I'm afraid 
Plummer has a 
clunisy assistant 

Mr + Claridge said 
nothing, but looked 
rather glum. For 
Mr, Woollett was a 
most excellent cus- 

Lord Stan way 
and Hewitt walked 
slowly down the 
street, Hevvitt star- 
ing at the pave- 
ment in profound 
thought. Once or 
twice Lord Stan- 
way glanced at his 
face, but refrained 
from disturbing 
him* Presently, 
however, he ob- 
served, " You seem 
at least, Mr. Hewitt, 
to have noticed 
something that has 
set you thinking. 
Does it look like a 

Hewitt came out 
of his cogitation at 
once. " A clue ? " he said : u the case bristles 
with clues. The extraordinary thing to me is 
that Plummer, usually a smart man, doesn't 
seem to have seen one of them. He must 
be out of sorts, Pm afraid. But the case is 
decidedly a very remarkable one." 

" Remarkable, in what particular way ? " 
" In regard to motive. Now it would seem, 
as Plummer \va>. saying to nu: just now on 
the roof, that there were only two passible 
motives for such a robbery- Either the man 
who took all-(tl3* n 1*tnjb^ and risk to break 



l6 3 

into Claridge's place must have desired to 
sell the cameo at a good price, or he must 
have desired to keep it for himself, being a 
lover of such things. But neither of these 
has been the actual motive." 

"Perhaps he thinks he can extort a good 
sum from me by way of ransom ? " 

" No, it isn't that Nor is it jealousy, nor 
spite, nor anything of that kind I know the 
motive, I think — but I wish we could get hold 
of Hahn. I will shut myself up alone and 
turn it over in my mind for half an hour 
presently/ 5 

" Meanwhile, what I want to know is, 
apart from all your professional subtleties— 
which I confess I can't understand— can you 
get back the cameo ?" 

" That," said Hewitt, stopping at the corner 
of the street, " I am rather afraid I cannot - 
nor anybody else. But I 
am pretty sure I know the 

"Then surely that will 
lead you to the cameo ? " 

" It may, of course ; but 
then it is just possible that 
by this evening you may 
not want to have it back 
after all." 

Lord Stanway stared in 
am izement 

1 Not want to have it 
back ! " he exclaimed. 
"Why, of course, 1 shall 
want to have it back. I 
don't understand you in the 
least ; you talk in conun- 
drums. Who is the thief 
you speak of?'' 

" I think, Lord Stanway,' 1 
Hewitt said, "that perhaps 
I had better not say until I 
have quite finished my in- 
quiries, in case of mistakes. 
The case is quite an extra- 
ordinary one, and of quite 
a different character from 
what one would at first 
naturally imagine, and I 
must be very careful to 
guard against the possibiltt / 
of error, \ have very littl : 
fear of a mistake, however, 
and I hope I may wait on 
you in a few hours at Pic- 
cadilly with nz\\± I have 
only to see the policemen/' 

"Certainly, come when- 
ever you please. But why 

see the policemen ? They have already most 
positively stated that they saw nothing what- 
ever suspicious in the house or near it" 

" I shall not ask them anything at all 
about the house," Hewitt responded. " I 
shall just have a little chat with them — 
about the weather." And with a smiling 
bow, he turned away, while Lord Stanway 
stood and gazed after him, with an expres- 
sion that implied a suspicion that his special 
detective was making a fool of him. 

In rather more than an hour Hewitt was back 
in Mr. Claridge's shop. " Mr. Claridge," he said, 
" I think I must ask you one or two questions 
in private. May I see you in your own room ?" 

They went there at once, and Hewitt, 
pulling a chair before the window, tat down 
with his back to the light The dealer shut 





the door, and sat opposite him, with the 
light full in his face. 

"Mr, Claridge," Hewitt proceeded, slowly, 
" when did you first find that Lord StaMwaVs 
cameo was a forgery ? " 

Claridge literally bounced in his chair 
His face paled, but he managed to stammer, 
sharply, £1 What— what— what d'you mean ? 
Forgery ? Do you mean to say I sell 
forgeries ? Forgery ? It wasn't a forgery ! " 

lf Then," continued Hewitt, in the same 
deliberate tone, watching the other's face the 
while, "if it wasn't a forgery, why did you 
destroy it and burst your trap-door and desk 
to imitate a burglary ? " 

The sweat stood thick on the dealer's face, 
and he gasped But he struggled hard to 
keep his faculties together, and ejaculated, 
hoarsely: "Destroy it? What — what— I 
didn't— didn't destroy it ! " 

" Threw it into the river, then— don't pre- 
varicate about details/ 1 

u No— no — it's a lie, Who says that? 
Go away. You Ye insulting me ! " Claridge 
almost screamed 

"Come, come, Mr. Claridge," Hewitt said, 
more placably, for he had gained his point ; 
" don't distress yourself, and don't attempt to 
deceive me — you can't, I assure you. I 
know everything you did before you left here 
last night— everything." 

Claridge's face worked painfully, Once or 
twice he appeared to be on the point of re- 
turning an indignant reply, but hesitated, and 
finally broke down altogether, 

" Don't expose me, Mr, Hewitt/' he 

pleaded; (t I beg you won't expose me. 1 
haven't harmed a soul but myself Fve paid 
Lord Stanway every penny back, and I 
never knew the thing was a forgery till I 
began to clean it* I'm an old man, Mr, 
Hewitt, and my professional reputation has 
been spotless till now. I beg you won't 
expose me." 

Hewitt's voice softened u Don't make 
an unnecessary trouble of it," he said. " I see 
a decanter on your sideboard — let me give 
you a little brandy and water. Come, there's 
nothing criminal, I believe, in a man's breaking 
open his own desk, or his own trap -door, for 
that matter Of course, I'm acting for Lord 
Stan way in this affair, and I must, in duty, 
report to him without reserve. But I^ord 
Stanway is a gentleman, and I'll undertake 
he'll do nothing inconsiderate of your feelings, 
if you Ye disposed to be frank. I,et us talk 
the affair over — tell me about it." 

" It was that swindler Hahn who deceived 
me in the beginning/' Claridge said- " 1 
have nbver made a mistake with a cameo 
before, and I never thought so close an 
imitation was possible. I examined it most 
carefully, and was perfectly satisfied, and 
many experts examined it afterwards* and 
were all equally deceived, I felt as sure as 
I possibly could feel that I had bought one 
of the finest, if not actually the finest cameo 
known to exist It was not until after it 
had come back from Ix)rd Stan way's, and 
I was cleaning it, the evening before 
last, thjtt in course of my work it became 
apparent that the thing was nothing but 


F- MB, MH. 116 WITT. 

* Original from 



a consummately clever forger)'. It was 
made of three layers of moulded glass, nothing 
more or less. But the glass was treated in 
a way I had never before known of, and the 
surface had been cunningly worked on till it 
defied any ordinary examination. Some of 
the glass imitation cameos made in the latter 
part of the last century, I may tell you, are 
regarded as marvellous pieces of work, and, 
indeed, command very fair prices, but this 
was something quite beyond any of those. 

" I was amazed and horrified. I put the 
thing away and went home. All that night I 
lay awake in a state of distraction, quite 
unable to decide what to do. To let the 
cameo go out of my possession was im- 
possible. Sooner or later the forgery would 
be discovered, and my reputation — the 
highest in these matters in this qpuntry, 
I may safely claim, and the growth of 
nearly fifty years of honest application and 
good judgment— this reputation would be 
gone for ever. But without considering 
this, t^iere was the fact that I had taken 
^5,000 of Lord Stanway's money for a mere 
piece of glass, and that money I must, in 
mere common honesty as well as for niy own 
sake, return But how? The name of the 
Stanway Cameo had become a household 
word, and to confess that the whole thing 
was a sham would ruin my reputation and 
destroy all confidence — past, present, and 
future — in me and in my transactions. 
Either way spelled ruin. Even if I confided 
in Lord Stanway privately, returned his 
money and destroyed the cameo, what then ? 
The sudden disappearance of an article so 
famous would excite remark at once. It had 
been presented to the British Museum, and 
if it never appeared in that collection, 
and no news were to be got of it, people 
would guess at the truth at once. To make 
it known that I myself had been deceived 
would have availed nothing. It is my busi- 
ness not to be deceived ; and to have it known 
that my most expensive specimens might be 
forgeries would equally mean ruin, whether I 
sold them cunningly as a rogue Or ignorantly 
as a fool. Indeed, my pride, my reputation 
as a connoisseur is a thing near to my 
heart, and it would be an unspeakable 
humiliation to me to have it known that I 
had been imposed on by such a forgery. 
What could I do ? Every expedient seemed 
useless, but one — the one I adopted. It was 
not straightforward, I admit ; but, oh ! Mr. 
Hewitt, consider the temptation — and re- 
member that it couldn't do a soul any harm. 
No matter who might be suspected, I knew could not possibly be evidence to make 
them suffer. All the next day — yesterday— 
I was anxiously worrying out the thing in jnjr 
mind and carefully devising the — jhe triclC 
I'm afraid you'll call it— that you' by §onre * 
extraordinary means have seen through. It 
seemed the only thing — what else was thetf^Jt 
More I needn't tell you— you know it I 
have only now to beg that you will use your 
best influence with Lord Stanway to save me 
from public derision and exposure. I will do 
anything — pay anything — anything but 
exposure, at my age, and with my position." 

11 Well, you see," Hewitt replied, thought- 
fully, " I've no doubt Lord Stanway will show 
you every consideration, and certainly I will 
do what I can to save you, in the circum- 
stances; though you must remember that 
you have done some harm — you have caused 
suspicions to rest on at least one honest man. 
But as to reputation — I've a professional 
reputation of my own. If I help to conceal 
your professional failure, I shall appeai to 
have failed in my part of the business." 

" But the cases are different, Mr. Hewitt- - 
consider. You are not expected— it would be 
impossible — to succeed invariably; and there 
are only two or three who know you ha^e 
looked into the case. Then your other con- 
spicuous successes " 

"Well, well — we shall see. One thing I 
don't know, though— whether you climbed 
out of a window to break open the trap-door, 
or whether you got up through the trap-door 
itself and pulled the bolt with a string 
through the jamb, so as to bolt it after you." 

" There was no available window — I used 
the string, as you say. My poor little cunning 
must seem very transparent to you, I fear. 
I spent hours of thought over the question of 
the trap-door — how to break it open so as to 
leave a genuine appearance, and especially 
how to bolt it inside after I had reached the 
roof. I thought I had succeeded beyond 
the possibility of suspicion ; how you pene- 
trated the device surpasses my comprehension. 
How, to begin with, could you possibly know 
that the cameo was a forgery? Did you ever 
see it ? " 

" Never. And if I had seen it, I fear I 
should never have been able to express an 
opinion on it; I'm not a connoisseur. As a 
matter of fact, I didn't know that the thing 
was a forgery in the first place; what I knew 
in the first place was that it was you who 
had broken into the house. It was from 
that that I arrived at the conclusion — after 
a certain amount of thought— that the cameo 

^SN^fel^OTl'GAf 31 " was ° ut ° f 

1 66 


the question — you, beyond all men, could 
never sell the Stanway Cameo again, and, 
besides, you had paid back Lord Stanway's 
money. I knew enough of your reputation 
to know that you would never incur the scandal 
of a great theft at your place for the sake of 
getting the cameo for yourself, when you might 
have kept it in the beginning, with no trouble 
and mystery. Consequently, I had to look for 
another motive, and at first another motive 
seemed an impossibility. Why should 
you wish to take all this trouble to lose 
^5,000 ? You had nothing to gain ; 
perhaps you had something to save— your 
professional reputation, for instance. Looking 
at it so, it was plain that you were suppressing 
the cameo — burking it; since, once taken as 
you had taken it, it could never come to light 
again. That suggested the solution of the 
mystery at once— you had discovered, after 
the sale, that the cameo was not genuine." 

" Yes, yes — I see ; but you say you began 
with the knowledge that I broke into the 
place myself. How did you know that ? I 
cannot imagine a trace " 

44 My dear sir, you left traces everywhere. 
In the first place, it struck me as curious, 
before I came here, that you had sent off 
that cheque for ,£5,000 to Lord Stanway an 
hour or so after the robbery was discovered 
— it looked so much as though you were sure 
of the cameo never coming back, and were 
in a hurry to avert suspicion. Of course, I 
understood that, so far as I then knew the 
case, you were the most unlikely person in 
the world, and that your eagerness to repay 
Lord Stanway might be the most creditable 
thing possible. But the point was worth 
remembering, and I remembered it. 

" When I came here I saw suspicious in- 
dications in many directions, but the con- 
clusive piece of evidence was that old hat 
hanging below the trap-door." 

44 But I never touched it, I assure you, Mr. 
Hewitt, I never touched the hat— haven't 
touched it for months " 

44 Of course. If you had touched it, I might 
never have got the clue. But we'll deal with 
the hat presently ; that wasn't what struck me 
at first. The trap-door first took my attention. 
Consider, now : here was a trap-door, most 
insecurely hung on external hinges ; the 
burglar had a screw -driver, for he took 
off the door-lock below with it Why, then, 
didn't he take this trap off by the hinges, 
instead of making a noise and taking longer 
time and trouble to burst the bolt from its 
fastenings ? And why, if he were a stranger, 
was he able to plant his jemmy from the 

side just exactly opposite the interior bolt ? 
There was only one mark on the frame, and 
that precisely in the proper place. 

"After that, I saw the leather case. It 
had not been thrown away, or some corner 
would have shown signs of the fall. It had 
been put down carefully where it was found. 
These things, however, were of small import- 
ance compared with the hat. The hat, as 
you know, was exceedingly thick with dust — 
the accumulat^n of months. But, on the 
top side, presented toward the trap-door, were 
a score or so of raindrop marks. That was 
all. They were new marks, for there was no 
dust over them ; they had merely had time 
to dry and cake the dust they had fallen on. 
Now, there had been no rain since a sharp 
shower just after seven o'clock last night 
At that time you, by your own statement, 
were in the place. You left at eight, and the 
rain was all over at ten minutes or a quarter- 
past seven. The trap-door, you also told me, 
had not been opened for months. The 
thing was plain. You, or somebody who 
was here when you were, had opened 
that trap-door during, or just before, that 
shower. I said little then, but went, as soon 
as I had left, to the police-station. There . I 
made perfectly certain that there had been no 
rain during 'the night by questioning the 
policemen who were on duty outside all the 
time. There had been none. I knew every- 

"The only other evidence there was 
pointed with all the rest. There were no rain- 
marks on the leather case ; it had been put 
on the roof as an after-thought when there 
was no rain. A very poor after-thought, let 
me tell you, for no thief would throw away 
a useful case that concealed his booty and 
protected it from breakage, and throw it away- 
just so as to leave a clue as to what direction 
hs had gone in. I also saw, in the lumber- 
room, a number of packing-cases — one with 
a label dated two days back — which had 
been opened with an iron lever ; and yet, 
when I made an excufce to ask for it, you 
said there was no such thing in the place. 
Inference : you didn't want me to compare 
it with the marks on the desks and doors. 
That is all, I think." 

Mr. Claridge looked dolorously down at 
the floor. 44 I'm afraid," he said, 44 that I 
took an unsuitable rdle when I undertook to 
rely on my wits to deceive men like you. ^I_ 
thought there wasn't a single vulnerable spot 
in my defence, but you walk calmly through 
it at the first attempt. \Y r hy did I never 
think of those raindrops ? " 



i6 7 

"Come, 1 * said Hewitt, with a smile, "that 
sounds unrepentant I an^ going, now, to 
Lord Stan way's. If I were you, I think I 
should apologize to Mr. Woollett in some 

Lord Stan way, who, in the hour or two of 

unblushing Hahn walked smilingly into his 
office two days later to demand the extra 
payment agreed on in consideration of 
the sale. He had been called suddenly 
away, he explained, on the . day he should 
have come! and hoped his niis^ing the 



reflection left him after parting with Hewitt, 
had come to the belief that he had employed 
a man whose mind was not always in order, 
received Hewitt's story with natural astonish 
ment For some time he was in doubt 
as to whether he would be doing right in 
acquiescing in anything but a straightforward 
public statement of the facts connected with 
the disappearance of the cameo, hut in the 
end was persuaded to let the affair drop, on 
receiving an assurance from Mr + Woollett 
that he unreservedly accepted the apology 
offered him by Mr. Claridge* 

As for the latter, he was at least sufficiently 
punished in loss of money and personal 
humiliation for his escapade. But the 
bitterest and last blow he sustained when the 

by Google 

appointment had occasioned no incon- 
venience. .V to the robbery of the cameo, 
of course he was very sorry, but "pishness 
was pishness," and he would be glad of 
a cheque for the sum agreed on And 
the unhappy Claridge was obliged to pay 
it, knowing that the man had swindled 
him, but unable to open his mouth to 
say so. 

The reward remained on offer for a long 
time — indeed, it was never publicly with- 
drawn, I believe, even at the time of Claridge 1 * 
death. And several intelligent newspapers 
enlarged upon the fact that an ordinary 
burglar had completely baffled and defeated 
the boasted acumen of Mr Martin Hewitt, 
the well-known private detective. 

Original from 

Engine Drivers and Their Work. 

By Alfred T. Story. 


1 JEAN IE I3EAN5/* WITH JF,M Hjicmw,, 


HERE is perhaps no body of 
men to whom the public are 
so much indebted for their 
daily convenience and safety 
as to the engine driver and 
his mate, the fireman. Every- 
body, of course, is acquainted with their 
appearance as they come thundering into 
the station upon their engines, often enough 
grimy and weather-stained, but sturdy and 
resolute-looking, as they need well be, seeing 
the dangerous and responsible work they 
have to do. We may, too, have sauntered 
up to the marvellous machine which they 
have in charge— a machine, perhaps, the 
most wonder-working the world has ever 
seen — and li taken stock," to use the common 
phrase, of its construction, so far as that 
can be done from the outside, and of the 
multiplicity of valves and appliances whereby 
its Titanic powers are brought into action 
and controlled, Wp may have watched the 
ease with which it is put in motion and 
with which it is stopped, and it may have 
appeared to us a simple thing after all to run 
a locomotive engine, and so take charge 
daily of the lives and fortunes of hundreds 
of people. But to few has it occurred, 
perhaps, to inquire more narrowly into the 
daily work of these men, and into the course 

of training they have to undergo before they 
can be intrusted with the charge of an 

Marvellous as has been the development 
of railways all over the world, and compli- 
cated as is the system by which the world's 
land- travel is conducted, there is, perhaps, 
no part of the railway system so admirable, 
and showing so much care, as the method 
by which the men who have the actual 
working of this instrument of civilization 
are selected and trained for their work. It 
is, perhaps, a misfortune that we do not 
know more of the lives and the education of 
the men who do the hard work of the world ; 
we might then have more sympathy with 
them and with their aims and aspirations* It 
will not be the fault of the preseht writer if, 
after the perusal of this article, the reader 
does not know all, or nearly all/ about the 
engine driver and his work. For, as will be 
seen, the driver himself has been approached 
and interviewed as to his work and the means 
by which he attained his position. 

Three representative companies have been 
selected from which to obtain information. 
The London and North-Uestern Railway was 
first approached, and Lord Stalbridge, the 
chairman of the company, at once gave every 
facility for looking oveir the works of the 




company ; seeing and talking with the men, 
and, in short, for obtaining such information 
as was desired. It need hardly be said that 
the general managers of the two other lines 
selected, the Great Western and the London 
and South-Western, were equally courteous. 

On all the railways of this country the 
locomotive department is under one iespon- 
sible head, who has charge of the construction 
of the engines, as well as of their daily em- 
ployment Under him, however, are inspec- 
tors and foremen, who are responsible for the 
supply of engines, and for their assignment 
to their proper duties over a given district. 
To them also belong the selection and 
charge of the men who run the engines. 
No one is better qualified, therefore, to give 
information touching the work of drivers and 
others engaged about a locomotive engine 
than these inspectors, many of whom have 
risen from the ranks. This, however, is not 
the case with Mr. A* L. Mumford, who has 
charge of the locomotives on the London and 
North -Western Railway between London 
and Crewe, his office being at Rugby ; but 
his knowledge of a locomotive engine and 
of the duties of those who have charge 
of it is as thorough as though he had gone 
through all the grades ; and for much of the 
following account of an engine driver's career 
and duties I am indebted to him. 

The future engine driver generally begins 
his career about fourteen years of age, 
though some may commence at the age of 
sixteen or seventeen. Sometimes they start 
in the fitter's room, in which repairs are done 
to running engines; sometimes as bar-lads 
and call-lads. The duty of bar-lads is to put 
the bars into the fire-boxes of engines. A 
call-lad is employed to call up drivers and 
firemen in the morning, so that there may be 
no delay through over-sleeping. As the men 
sometimes live a mile — or perhaps more — 
distant from the station, and they have to be 
called at all hours of the night, the call- 
boy must be free from tremors and night 
fears ; in other words, he must be a youth 
of nerve and courage. This appears to 
be especially the case in the neighbour- 
hood of Willesden, where, notwithstand- 
ing the very matter-of-fact character of 
a large railway junction, ghosts have been 
known to prowl, putting the call-boys into 
unseasonable frights. 

From these various duties the youth 
generally goes on to engine-cleaning, helping 
an older cleaner at first, and doing the 
rougher parts of the engine j and then, when 
he knows the work thoroughly, having an 

Vol viii.-23. 

engine assigned entirely to himself. By 
this means the future driver learns to know 
all about an engine, from observing it 
being prepared for duty, and seeing it come 
off duty, and likewise in all stages of " con- 

From cleaner, the next upward step is that 
of extra fireman, who is employed assisting 
drivers and moving engines in the shed from 
the coal stage to the place for going out. 
After some time spent in th|s way he goes as 
a regular fireman upon a goods train. But 
before he is made a full fireman he has to 
pass through an examination as to his general 
knowledge of his duties, and of the rules 
relating thereto. This examination, so far as 
men in Mr. Mumford's district are concerned, 
generally takes place in his office. Questioned 
on the point as to wages, Mr. Mumford 
said : — 

"As an extra fireman, his pay when firing 
is 3s. 6d. a day. As soon as he passes as 
a regular fireman, and signs his agreement, he 
gets 3s. 9d. a day for twelve months ; after 
that he gradually increases iri wage until he 
goes on a main line express train, goods or 
passenger, when he receives 4s. 6d. a day. 
The next step in advance is to become a 

In answer to the question how long it takes 
to reach the last-named stage, Mr. Mumford 
said : — 

" It depends upon the demand for engine- 
men and on the capacity of the man how long 
it takes him to go through the various stages 
of fireman to be a driver. The average time 
would not be less than five years. Some 
firemen remain in that stage eight or ten 
years, some as long as twelve years. 

"The driver's first experience is to turn 
and move engines in the shed yard. Then 
he passes on to a shunting engine and to a 
local goods train, next to an ordinary goods 
train, then to a main-line express goods, then 
to a local passenger train, then to a better- 
class passenger train, and lastly to a through 

In reply to a question as to the wages of 
drivers, Mr. Mumford said : — 

" A shunting engine driver gets 5s. 6d. a 
day ; a local goods train driver, 6s. 6d. ; and 
so on, the pay gradually rising to 8s., 
according to the nature of the work done. 
As to hours of work, the engine-man's time 
is sixty hours a week. But, in running, 120 
miles is reckoned as a day's work for through 
goods trains, and 150 miles for passenger 
trains. From here (Rugby) to London and 
back," added Mr. Mumford, " is 165^ miles, 

I 7° 


as possible. With 
men are arranged 
fixed duties. For 

and is reckoned as a day and an hour. From 
Crewe to London is 157^ miles, and is 
equal to a day's work, or ten hours ; there 
must be a little give and take." 

Continuing, Mr. Mumford said : " In 
assigning a man's duties our aim is to 
obviate, as far as possible, his being employed 
more than ten or eleven hours a day, and 
to enable him to be at home as much 
this object in view, the 
into Minks/ for certain 
instance, we have two 
men here who work certain trains. One 
joins the Scotch express here with his engine 
and takes it up to London. He returns by 
the 8.50 north train, finishing his duty at 
Rugby. The second man takes the train 
here and goes on with it to Crewe, where he 
arrives at 12,49- He returns at 10,30 a,m. 
with another Scotch express* and is relieved 
here, where another engine comes out to 
take it on to London. The man who takes 
up the 5,2 p + m, to London, arriving; at 7, 
leaves London again at 10.10 p.m., with the 
Liverpool and Manchester express, and 
brings it to Rugby. Another man takes the 
train with his engine at Rugby, and works it 
to Crewe at 1.35 a + m. He leaves there again 
&t 3-3^ with a return train, and is at Rugby 
at 4*57, when the first engine takes it up 
again. We keep two big engines here for 
this service, and the two men I have 
spoken of work them, All our trains 
are worked in this way. The 'Charles 
Dickens y train, which runs from Manchester 
to London every day, 
leaving Manchester at 
8.30 and due in London 
at 12,55, an d leaving 
London again at 4, 
arriving in Manchester 
at 8.20, is worked between 
here and London by two 
engines and two men, 
who take the trips alter- 
nately—a trip to London 
and then a day off. The 
same arrangement holds 
with regard to the 2 p.m, 
from London to Crewe — 
the ' Corridor ' train — 
arriving at 5.20. Two of 
our best men are here 
now, and you may talk 
to them yourself and 
elicit any information 
from them you like. I 
should say, however, that 
the quality of our drivers 


From ft i'Aoto. by Sfftitfhi, Rufi>y. 

has improved greatly during the last 
thirty years— especially in regard to habits of 
sobriety.* 1 

" I suppose a man is fined for drunkenness 
on duty ? n 

"No; he is discharged at once. If a 
man in a siding leaves his engine and goes 
into a public-house, he is at once dismissed* 
But it is very seldom now that a man is dis- 
missed for drunkenness — rarely, indeed, that 
a case is reported No ; if you look in this 
book you will see the matters for which a 
man is fined," 

In the book in question were recorded 
small fines for "absenting himself without 
leave," "causing damage to buffer," s< not 
having engine out of shed in time," " running 
short of water in his tender," " allowing the 
small end of strap to become hot,' 1 "allowing 
the engine to smoke/' etc. The amount of 
the fine generally ran to a few shillings, half 
a crown being a common figure. 

As regards the offence of allowing an 
engine to smoke, this is strictly forbidden in 
going through towns, where it is liable to 
cause complaint It is quite needless, too, 
to offend in this way, for if it is necessary in 
stoking to let off smoke, a little steam turned 
into the chimney, by turning the smoke 
white, obviates all cause of complaint. This 
is commonly done to prevent the smoke 
being seen. The information on this point, 
however, was not given by Mr, Mumford, 

The two drivers were now introduced, and 
I proceeded to question them on their 

Richard Walker, 
markably sturdy, 
preserved man, said 
have been nearly thirty 
years a driver. I began 
my career on the railway 
at the age of fourteen as 
a fitter's assistant, in 
which position I remained 
four or live years. I thus 
became thoroughly ac- 
quainted with the engine 
and all its parts, I was 
to have been a fitter, but 
they would not let me be 
one. Our fitter said there 
was no scope in fitting — 
that there was much more 
scope in driving. So I 
went on the engine, I 
firing for three or four 
I _ started driving 
M&Jjjf, 1865, at 

a re- 





Peterborough, and went first on the goods. 
I have been sixteen years on express work, 
and am at the top of the tree. I always 
run express and mail trains." 

" And your pay ? " 

" Eight shillings a day." 

" How do you find driving as regards 
health ? " 

" I have always kept my health in the 
work, and have never lost a day through 
accident. I was selected to run the special 
express carrying the Empress of Austria from 
Heme Hill to Crewe." 

" Have you driven the Queen ? " 

" Yes, I drove Her Majesty when she went 
to Derby twelve months ago last spring. I 
drove her from Leamington to Derby on our 

" I suppose you have to take extra special 
precautions when the Queen travels ? " 

" Oh, yes ; we take very great care of the 
old lady ! We bring out one of our very 
best engines, and it is carefully overhauled. 
Then special precautions are taken all along 
the line, and nothing is allowed to move for 
half an hour before her train is due. Then a 
pilot engine runs a quarter of an hour before 
her train. The locomotive foremen of the 
respective districts and a guard, supplied 
with hand lamp and fog signals, travel on the 
pilot engine. Then there is a distinctive 
code for signalling both the pilot engine 
and the Royal train. This year when Her 
Majesty went to Ballater it was twelve 
strokes, like this : " 

"You take it as an honour, then, to be 
selected to drive the Queen ? " 

" Oh, yes ; we like to be put on that duty, 
although we do not much care to go off our 
own line." 

Mr. Mumford here interposed with the 
remark that one driver who was chosen to 
drive the Queen, on getting back to Willes- 
-den from Heme Hill, exclaimed, "Thank 
God, we have got into England again ! " 

There is a good deal of character about 
some of these men, and many good jokes 
are told both of and by them. One old 
stager, who was driving a train that happened 
to be a bit behind time, observed a gentle- 
man go up to the guard, put half a crown into 
his hand, and say : " Do your best, guard, to 
make up your lost time, or I shall lose my 
train at such a junction, which I want very 
much to get" "All right, sir," said the 
guard, touching his hat. Before starting he 
gave a hint to the driver ; but the driver had 
his own views on the " morality " of the 
question, and when his engine sailed into the 

junction, the train the passenger wished to 
catch was seen to be quietly steaming out 
at the other end of the station. The 
disappointed traveller, greatly annoyed, 
approached the driver and said : " I thought, 
driver, you might have enabled me to get 
my train. Half a minute would have done 
it." "Ah, sir," replied the old driver, "it 
might have been done easily ; but, you see, 
you greased the wheels at the wrong end of 
the train." 

In reply to the question, " Will you now 
tell me what is your day's routine ? " Walker 
said : — 

" When we come on duty, the first thing 
we have to do is to report ourselves at the 
office in the shed. We there write our name 
in the book, and our time is taken. This is 
necessary, in order that the timekeeper may 
see that we are in a proper condition to go 
on duty. We then take a look at the notice 
board to see if there is anything there 
affecting our particular line. Everything in 
the way of change relating to the working 
of the line — change of signals, the arrange- 
ment of the ' links/ and so forth — is 
posted there. This done, we go to our 
engine and see that all is in order — the fire 
lighted and steam up. We are expected to 
be in the shed an hour before the time for us 
to join the train, in order to give us plenty of 
time for preparation. The next thing, after 
seeing that all is in order, is to proceed to 
the tank and take in water. Then we move 
up to the siding in readiness for the train. 

" I am just now going out with the 5.2 to 
London. I arrive at 7, and leave Euston 
again at 10.10 with the Liverpool and Man- 
chester express, arriving here at 11.45. My 
mate takes the train here and carries it to 
Crewe, and I go to bed. This trip constitutes 
my day's w&rk, although I have only been 
out seven hcmrs; I have, however, run 150 
miles, which Constitutes a running day." 

" Having finished your trip, I suppose you 
have nothing else to do but to go home and 
go to bed ? " 

" Before we can do that, we have to take 
our engine to the coal siding and have it 
supplied with fuel for the next day's run. 
This is the invariable rule. Then we take 
her into the shed and hand her over to the 
turner, who puts her on the turn-table and 
turns her round, and places her in such a 
position that she can be taken out in the 
morning without any more trouble. The 
fire is then taken out of her, and she is 
handed over to the cleaners. If she is in 
need of any repairs, they have to be reported 



to the shed foreman, who sees that they are 
attended to. When everything has been 
done, we have again to go to the office and 
report ourselves, and sign the book. We 
generally give a look at the notice-board, too, 
to see if there is anything posted concerning 
our ' link ' or the line we work on." 

"And about your premiums for saving 
fuel : are you allowed a premium ? " 

"Yes; we are allowed so much coal per 
mile. My quantity is 301b. Some have 
361b., others 381b. The majority of the 
goods trains are allowed from 451b. to 50IL 
per mile. They require more than the pas- 
senger trains, because they have so much 
shunting— especially the coal trains. If a 
man takes an interest in his work it leads him 
to be economical ; it also shows the company 
what men are interested in their work. All 
the coal is weighed out to the engine. At the 
end of each month a sheet is issued, showing, 
amongst other details, the actual working of 
each engine during the month, and if any 
driver has been able to do the whole of his 
work with a less consumption of coal than 
the standard allowance, he is paid a premium 
of 2S. for each pound of coal used per mile less 
than the standard, the fireman being allowed 
8d. per pound. For instance, engines work- 
ing the heaviest express passenger trains 
between Rugby, Crewe, and London are 
allowed 381b. per mile ; and if a driver can do 
his work for the whole month with a con- 
sumption of 361b. per mile, he gets a bonus 
of 4s., and his fireman is. 4d. That pays 
the company and also the driver. In the last 
sheet issued I got 16s." 

" When do you consider your work to be 
the most dangerous ? " 

" In times of fog and snow, of course. 
I do not mean when the snow is on the 
ground ; that is simple enough. It is when 
the snow is falling that it bothers us, espe- 
cially with a head-wind. It is then driven 
against the engine and covers the glass of 
the look-out, so that we can't see. Then 
driving becomes very difficult" 

" Have you special rules to guide you in 
such cases ? " 

"The rules are the same as when fog 

" And what are they ? " 

" Well, when the fog is so thick that we 
cannot see the signals we have to feel our 
way with the help of the fog - signalmen. 
The signals are working as usual, of course, 
but we can't see them. The fog-signalman, 
therefore, is employed to help us. He is 
stationed within call of the signal-box, and 

acts under the direction of the signalman 
If I am coming from London and want to 
get into the station, I go on until my engine 
explodes a detonator. Then I know that I 
must shut off steam and bring my train under 
complete control, and wait for a signal from 
the fog-signalman. He has a shelter on the 
road near the signal-box, and generally has a 
fire blazing near (to give light as well as to 
keep him warm), and if he gives me the red, 
or danger, hand-signal, I must at once bring 
my engine to a stand, and then proceed 
.cautiously to the point the hand-signal is 
intended to protect, or until I get the 
signal to proceed. If I am stopped by a 
detonator * and am kept waiting very long, I 
let them know of my presence by blowing 
my whistle from time to time. We are able 
to talk with our whistles, and so can let the 
station-master or the signalmen know where 
we are and where we want to go." 

"You need all your caution at such 
times ? " 

" Yes, we do ; but the only danger is when 
signals fail, or the wrong ones are given. 
When the i block ' is perfect there is no 

" I suppose it requires good nerves to be a 
driver of an express ? " 

" Yes ; many men have not nerve enough 
for it. They refuse, saying they would 
prefer to remain at Pickford's work — that is 
their expression for the goods. But when a 
man feels equal to it, it is the lightest work, 
and he can keep at it until very old." 

" Have you any very old drivers at work 
now ? " 

" I think I am one of the oldest in the 
express work. But up to very recently we 
had a driver at work who was sixty-seven 
years of age. He had to go to a somewhat 
lighter job than express driving towards the 
end, however." 

In conclusion, Walker said that he and the 
next man interviewed constituted No. 3 link, 
known generally amongst engine-men and 
others on the line as the "Top Hat Link." 

The next man interviewed, James Penning- 
ton, was a perfect picture of health, rosy- 
cheeked, bright-eyed, and evidently still full 
of " go." He said he started as stoker on a 
colliery line at the age of nineteen, remaining 
in that employ eight or nine years. He then 
went on to a stationary engine for winding 
coals from the shaft. " After that," he con- 

* A detonator, or fog-signal, is constructed in the form of a 
circular disc abrfrt ain in diameter ; it is made of a mixture of 
iron and tin, is £Uei Mtii gurj^wder. and charged with three 
percussioT caps. Ft is presided "ritri *trips of tin on either 
side, with which i» i» tjistmed or- ?o ihe up^:r flange of a rail. 




F^om a Photo. b§ Speight, Rutf*. 

tinned, " 1 was engaged as a 6reman on the 
London and North -Western at Wolverton, 
and remained at that work, off and on, for 
about five yea re. I was then driving for four 
years, chiefly on a goods and coal pilot 
engine. I then went on the goods and 
express goods to Leeds and Liverpool After 
a few years at that I got to passenger work. 
I am now on express work, No. 3 link, 
from Rugby to London, and Crewe and 
Manchester.' 1 

** How long have you been connected with 
the Tx)ndon and North-Western Railway?" 

"Thirty-three years." 

fi Have you ever been in an accident? " 

"I have been in four accidents; but 1 
have never been in an accident where there 
were any lives lost" 

" Do you like the work ? IJ 

11 Yes ; I could not stop at home ; I would 
sooner have any trip." 

11 Have you found that the exposure in- 
jures your health ? " 

" I don't think I look as if it did- I am 
nearly sixty- three years of age, and I should 
like to have another ten years' service, if the 
company will allow me. John Middleton 
knocked off at seventy-five- He was put to 
driving a pilot engine a few years before that, 
and seemed rather aggrieved that he had 
be^n taken off the better work. I feel as 
well as ever I did, and I can run a train 
better than I did twenty years ago." 

In reply to another question, Pennington 
said :- 

" Railway work does not injure a man if 
he has a good constitution. Driving affects a 
man if he is at all nervous. A good deal 
depends on himself, Mr, Webb, the super- 
intendent of the Locomotive Department, has 
named three engines Pluck, Patience, and 
Perseverance, and those are the qualities 
that an engine man wants*" 

In reply to a question as to the hours of 
his work, Pennington said : — 

" We average about sixty hours a week, or 
the mileage equivalent to that. When we 
work on Sundays, we are paid at the rate of 
time and a half, so that for a full day we 
should get i2s. instead of 8s." 

Jem Brown, driver of the Scotch express, 
known as the " Corridor Train " (stationed 
with the three following at Camden), com- 
menced as a cleaner in 1858, became a 
fireman in 1859, and a driver in 1864, In 
1875 he was promoted from a goods engine 
to driving passenger trains, at which work 
he has been ever since. Asked as to his 
experience as a driver, he said :— 

41 1 have had two accidents. They were 
both to goods trains, I had a collision at 


hdxr'4i t iTcntjth Town. N.W. 



Coventry, when I had my engine knocked 
clean over, and blocked both lines for half a 
day. A ballast train was turned out of a 
siding without a signal, and I ran into it 
That was before the block system was intro- 
duced. My engine was damaged a good 
deal, and some of the trucks also." 

" Were you not hurt yourself?" 

" No* When my engine was turning over 
I gave a spring, so as to get as far away as 
possible. You have to keep your wits about 
you when on an engine, and you some- 
times get some rough riding." 

"What was your other accident?" 

** That was on the nth of December, 1875, 
when I ran into a coal 
train at Leamington. 
The block system was 
then introduced, but 
was not thoroughly 
carried out. It was a 
very thick fog- They 
gave me * clear ' at 
Pole s worth, and the 
train was only just 
within the signals at 
Armington, near Tarn- 
worth. Under the 
present system of 
blocking that could not 
have happened. I 
should be stopped at 
Poles worth and cau- 
tioned : ' Section clear, 
but station blocked I * 
Then you may go on, 
but be prepared to 
stop at the next — 
which would be the 
home signal, and not 
go past it" 

"How did you come 
off this time?" 

" The engine was knocked to pieces, also 
a lot of coal trucks. Both the lines were 

" Were you hurt ? " 

" Not much, I jumped again when the 
engine was going over, I hurt my finger 
a bit, and my nose was marked— that was 

" How long have you been running the 
Scotch express ? " 

" For the last three years, although it is only 
since July last year that it was converted into 
what is called the Corridor Dining Train. It 
leaves London at 2 p.m., and reaches Crewe at 
5.20. It is taken by another driver from there, 
and I come back with another express at 7.32 , 

My mate runs the 
work three days a 


From a Photo, by H- J, Tat/tor, EtrtUh Toi™ Rtxul. X.W 

arriving at 10.45. I and another man take 
this train alternately, I run to Crewe and 
T>ack every other day. 
alternate day." 

" Then you only 

•* That is all. The actual running time to 
Crewe and back is 6 hours 40 minutes, that 
constitutes two days' work— -reckoned, of 
course, by mileage." 

u Do you find the work trying ? " 
I( Not in the least \ wo get used to it. I 
have had thirty- five years of it, and I am not 
much the worse, n 

John Button (in the same J' link M as the 
above) began his 
career in 1862, and was 
promoted to passen- 
ger driving in 1880. 
Asked if he had ever 
been in an accident, he 
said : — 

(£ I have been very 
fortunate, I have never 
had an accident of any 
kind — have not even 
so much as broken a 
buffer plank * J (i.e., the 
beam in front of the 
engine which carries 
the buffers). 

" You are now work- 
ing the Corridor Train 
with Brown?" 

11 Yes ; I worked 
the train yesterday ; 
Brown works it to-day." 
In further conver- 
sation, Button said he 
enjoyed perfect health. 
He thought there was 
nothing in driving to 
injure the constitution, 
not nerve enough to 
He did not 

Some men had 
take charge of a big engine, 
find the great speed of travelling affected 
the nerves, "but," said he, i[ it makes you 
anxious. For my part," he added, " I prefer 
to go at a topping speed. I have read in 
books that the higher the speed the more the 
nerves are affected ; but I don't find it so. 
You feel a sensation of positive pleasure in 
going along at a rattling speed. Of course* 
we are well protected from the weather by 
our cabs ; formerly it was not so, and 
in bad weather the men w T ere often soak- 
ing wet But all that has been changed 
since ftlr,..Webh_intrgquced the cab. That 

flfelown and I 

was abiftjiVfi^JT'lTJhe. engra 


r 75 

run is the l Jeanie Deans.' She was built by 
Mr Webb for the Edinburgh Exhibition, 
and is a 7ft. compound engine, of the latest 
type. She runs every day to Crewe and 

" I suppose you can tell pretty well the 
speed you are going at ? " 

a Yes; we soon learn £0 judge by the 
movement, the oscillation, how the engine is 
going. You feel the speed, The other day 
I looked at my watch at Crewe, and did not 
look at it again till I got to Euston, I found 
I was one minute to the good* ,J 

Joseph Edwards, in the service of the 
London and North-Western Railway Com- 
pany since 1863, and seventeen years a 
passenger driver, said 
he was one of the men 
chosen a year or two 
ago to run the 10 a.m. 
train from Euston to 
Edinburgh, It was 

known as the " racing train," and was run 
against the East Coast train for Scotland. 
" I ran it," he said, " from here to Crewe, 
158 miles, without a stop. We were timed 
to arrive at Crewe at 1 p,m. I was always 
before time ; sometimes ten minutes before. 
I could have done the distance in much less 
time than that if Mr, Mum ford would have 
allowed me, The engine we worked with 
was the * Marmion/ 7ft. 6in. driving-wheel. 
She is a splendid engine, and very suitable 
for the work. We could work her at the 
same uniform rate up hill and down. We 
ran the i racer J for a month, and never 
had a hitch. I was chosen for the work 
because I was accustomed to that class 
of engine," In reply 
to a question, Edwards 
said that during these 
trials of speed the 
1S Marmion" never had 
a hot axle. 

From a Photo. 6y G. W- Roberts, Kentish Tmtn t y. W. 

(To be continued.) 

by Google 

- Original from 

Illustrated Interviews, 


VIONGST the men who have 
played no small part in the 
development of our national 
history. Sir Donald Clinic 
certainly claims a distinguished 

I first met Sir Donald Currie on 
board his last built steamer, the Tan- 
tallon Castle, on the occasion of her 
trial trip to the Cape, on which vessel, 
with a party of friends, we steamed 
as far as Southampton Water, In ap- 
pearance the great steamship owner is 
decidedly benevolent ; he possesses a face 
which inspires immediate confidence ; his 
hair is perfectly white, and his eyes are 
continually looking you through and 
through. He is a per- 
fect Scotchman, care- 
ful, cool, and calm 
in everything he 
says or dots; and 
though he apparently 
thinks and works very 
rapidly, he never sug- 
gests hurry. One has 
but little difficulty in 
"discovering " the 
man, Earnestness, 
perfect and complete 
earnestness, is the 
great characteristic 
which has governed 
and directed his life 
from the very first 
moment when, as a lad 
of fourteen, he perched 
himself on an office 
stool and made his 
start in business with 
the smallest and most 
trifling work allotted to 

" I did every- 
thing 1 was bid/' 
Sir Donald said 
tome— an assur- 
ance that meant 

Sir Donald is 
a man to be 
"watched," He 
took the chair 

at an impromptu concert on board the 
Tantallon Castk^ and enthusiasm marked 
every word he uttered, although it was only 
to announce a banjo solo by a young lady 
travelling to the Cape for her health, or a 
duet by a wealthy American couple who were 
revelling in the luxury of a trip round the 
world. ' 

We chatted together in the smoking-room, 
and he spoke of the severer things that 
govern Life : the South African questions in 
which he has been called upon to take a 
part; the past, present, and future of that 
vast and rich territory, and still with 
the same earnest enthusiasm without which 
it seemed to me he could never open 
his mouth to speak. And here lies the 
secret of his success 
in the great steam- 
shipping world. He 
has laid down a law 
for himself : that what- 
ever he touched, or 
said, or thought, should 
be carri ed out 

Our smoking - room 
chat was particularly 
happy. It is very well 
known that amongst 
what might be termed 
Sir Donald's hobbies is 
that of taking in hand, 
and very successfully 
too, the restoration to 
health of sick cele- 
brities. He is a firm 
believer in the restora- 
tive qualities of a sea 
voyage. Hence it comes 
about that many emi- 
nent men have for a 
time placed them- 
selves under his 


care, and 
taken of 
hospitality on 
board his magni- 
ficent floating 
those I specially 
asked and we 

^'^* w ^M/ERSITYOFMICHIGW ed about ' 



/',- a] 


as our temporary home lay quietly anchored 
in Southampton Water f were Gladstone and 

"You know," said Sir Donald, "that both 
Mr. Gladstone and Ijsrd Tennyson have 
been out with me in the Pembroke Castle 
and the Grantulfy Castle* Gladstone gener- 
ally spent his day in reading or conversing 
with Tennyson, and every moment of his 
time was occupied, with never an instant 
wasted. On the Grantxtlly Castle, after the ill- 
ness which laid him aside from Parliamentary 
work, his favourite book was * David 
Copperfield ' ; whilst frequently he 
would take up some great Greek 
work and read passages to me, making 
most admirable comments on them 
as he went along. It was most 
charming to see Gladstone and 
Tennyson together. When Tennyson 
would sit and read one of his poems 
to the great statesman, discussing 
here and there the various lines, and 
Gladstone questioning the poet as to 
how he came to use this and that 
form of phraseology, nothing could 
be more instructive. 

" Sometimes they would talk about 
Homer and the old Greek poets, 
and 1 remember when we went for 
our Norway cruise in the Ptmhrokt 
Castie^ these two great men had the 
most interesting discussion (,<J«Q 

Vol, viii —24, 

that I ever heard. 
Although Tenny- 
son was not a very 
early riser, yet 
immediately after 
breakfast he 
always used to 
return to his 
cabin to study 
and write, for he 
assured me that 
he considered 
this was the best 
part of the day 
for work. I should 
like to tell you 
that when Tenny- 
son talked it was 
just like one of 
his own poems. 
When he was 
viewing scenery 
— a moonlight 
night, or a sun- 
set, or a little bit 
of impressive landscape — he would sit and 
look at it silently for a moment, as though 
drinking it in and filling his soul, only the next 
moment to tell it all to those whose privilege it 
was to sit near him- Of course, I need not tell 
you that Tennyson was a great smoker. When 
he came out with me he brought quite a stock 
of pipes, and he very seldom gave any away. 
1 think I am one of the very few who possess 
one of his famous clays, which he gave me 
on the day of the Royal visit. I keep it 
at Garth Castle, near Aberfeldy, where for 




From a Plwfa &ir the\ 

many years past I have spent the main por- 
tion of the summer and autumn months* 

" Let me tell you how I came to get pos- 
session of it We were at Copenhagen. After 
luncheon the ladies of the Royal party were 
very anxious to hear the great Poet Laureate 
read some of his 
poetry. He had re- 
tired to his room 
and was smoking, 
but I went after him 
and persuaded him 
to give up his pipe 
for a time ; he did 
so, and instead of 
throwing his pipe 
out of the cabin win- 
dow, as he often did, 
he gave it to me as 
a keepsake- When 
I told Gladstone 
this he said, * Keep 
it, it will be pre- 
cious some day/ 

" It was on the 
well-known trip to 
Dartmouth and 
Plymouth, in 1877, 
that I took Mr. 
Gladstone for the 
first time, which 
occasion was made 

more than interest- 
ing by the fact that 
it was on the way- 
back, at Exeter, that 
(J lads tone declared 
for the assimilation 
of the Burgh and 
Count v Franchise. 
It was in 1880 that 
the great statesman 
was my companion 
for a fortnight's 
cruise round Scot- 
land in the Gran- 
iully Castky and 
1883 broughtabout 
the trip of Tenny- 
son and C j lad stone 
in the Pembroke 
Castle round Scot- 
land to Kirkwall, 
Norway, and Co- 
penhagen. On the 
occasion of the 
visit of the Pem- 
broke Casfk to 
Copenhagen — the 
largest steamer ever in that port— a dinner 
at the palace was succeeded by the famous 
banquet on board the Pembroke Castfe^ the 
guests being the King and Queen of Den- 
mark and their family, the Emperor and 
Km press of Russia and their family, the 

Ftwm a Photo* by tte] 


tiflmRsiTr cmwrtHiffirflr 

Stawmpfe Cm 



From u Phut). Itu Uw Lwulun ^briwopu Company, 

King and Queen of Greece and their 
family, the Princess of Wales and Royal 
Family of England, and the Royal Family of 
Hanover — in all twenty-nine Royal persons, 
with diplomatists, Ambassadors, and admirals, 
numbering sixteen — forty five in alL 

" The speeches of the Royal guests and of 
Mr Gladstone on that interesting occasion, 
with the records of the proceed- 
ings of that peaceful visit to 
Copenhagen, where a merchant 
ship of England was saluted by 
the manning of the yards of the 
warships of the different nation- 
alities off the harbour, and the 
bands playing 'God Save the 
Queen/ were in singular con 
trast with the less friendly visit 
which Nelson paid to Denmark 
in the time of the great war. 
As Lord Tennyson said to Mr* 
Gladstone: £ This is the first time 
that a merchant ship of Great 
Britain has been so saluted since 
the time of Drake. 1 " 

It was some time after the 
successful launching of the beau- 
tiful Tantaifon Cas//e, and we 
had heard that she had arrived 
safely after a very delightful 
passage to Madeira, that an 
opportunity was afforded me of 

again meeting Sir 
Donald, and learn- 
ing something of 
the story of his 
life. This was at 
his town residence, 
Hyde Park Place. 
The interior of 4, 
Hyde Park Place, 
at once reveals the 
artistic side of Sir 
Donald Currie T s 
nature. Ft is prob- 
able that no man 
in London has more 
beautiful specimens 
of Turner than he; 
and what is more, 
Sir Donald not 
only possesses the 
pictures, but he 
understands the 
strong points of 
the man who 
painted them. Sir 
Donald talked 
about Turner and 
his works for fully a couple of hours before I 
could get him to sit down and tell me 
something about himself. He took very 
little notice of the clever canvas of Blarney 
Castle, which hangs in the hall, but he just 
paused to inform me merrily that he has 
refrained from calling one of his vessels, 
which form the Castle Line of steamers, 


[ frfcoJofTOpfc. 



From a Fhutu. b#] 


Bhmey Castk % because he considers that 
would be a little too much ! 

In the dining-room will be found Wilkie's 
"Sir Walter Scott," painted whilst on a visit 
to Abbotsford, and an original sketch by the 
same artist of "A Village Wedding/ 1 Millais, 
Sir Joshua Reynolds, David Cox, J. F. I.ewis, 
arc all represented ; whilst the two most 
recent additions to the room in the way of 
pictures are Sir Donald himself and Lady 
Curfie, painted by Quless, There are several 
Turners here, the 
best trio probably 
being "The Lake 
of Geneva," a 
glorious bit of 
colouring ; " The 
South Foreland/ 1 
which hangs over 
the mantelpiece; 
and that marvellous 
work depicting 
Nelson's body 
brought over from 
Trafalgar in the old 
Victory — -a curious 
picture in its way, 
for the canvas con- 
tains no fewer than 
a trio of Victory s t in 
order to show the 
ship in three posi- 

Sir Donald's 
study is next to 

the dining - room, 
and here we have 
more Turners, and 
a very fine bust of 
Gladstone, It is, 
however, in the 
drawing - room, 
which overlooks 
Hyde Park, that 
Turner, so to speak, 
is revealed in all 
his glory. "Abbots- 
ford; 5 "Mount 
Morialv "Dun- 
fermline Abbey/' 
"Venice," " Lu- 
cerne," "The Alps," 
" The Dawn of 
Christianity," and 
many of the pic- 
tures which went 
to illustrate the 
famous Bible series 
of Turner ; and, 
indeed, notwithstanding the fact that the walls 
of this apartment are covered with pictures, 
only three of them are other than Turner's. 

We looked for a moment at Sir Donald's 
volume of autographs, a number of which 
are reproduced in these pages, and a portrait 
group of the members of many of the Royal 
families gathered together at Copenhagen at 
the time of Sir Donald's trip there — a portrait, 
by-t he-bye, presented to him by the Queen 
of Hanover. But yet the steamship prince 

[EUiottit -Fry, 

Fromti Ptoto by] 




\r.ihnttd Fry 



Frama Phttta. by] 

will not be taken away from his Turners ; he 
brings forward a large cardboard box and 
opens it It contains a score of beautiful little 
water-colour drawings ; Sir Donald lifts one 
of them up quite reverentially and places it 
in my hands, 

M Do you recognise it ? " he said* 

I did not for the moment. His eyes twinkled, 
and he seemed almost proud to tell me. 

"Th^se, sir, are the twenty original draw- 
ings by Turner which went to illustrate 
Campbell's * Pleasures of Hope' and his 
poems. Look at them ! See ! " — as he takes 
them up one by one* u There is the one for 
1 Lord U Urn's Daughter ' ; this is £ O'Connor's 
Child * ; and that ' Gertrude of Wyoming ' ; 
and surely you know this, *The Soldier'i 
Dream*; and this, * LochiePs Warning/ and 
1 The Battle of the Baltic. "' 

We looked at that score of precious 
pictures for a long time, and their possessor 
discussed their almost countless beauties till 
we reached his study downstairs, where I 
desired to talk with a man who has done 
much for his fellows, I am inclined to think 
that at the outset Sir Donald showed some 
reticence in speaking about himself; but I 
pointed out to him that a man must tell the 
truth about his own life, however much he 
may have done and achieved, 

M Very well, then," said Sir Donald, " I will 
tell you. I w T as born in 1825, My first school 
was in Belfast. They were very lively days 
in Ireland in those times, when the great 
party feuds were on f and the differences of 

[ Ellwll d Fr§. 

opinion between 
the parties were 
much stronger then 
than now. Why, I 
have seen cavalry 
charge up and down 
the streets on the 
occasion of an elec- 
tion! James Bryce's 
father was my 
teacher. Yes, I was 
always fond of 
ships ; revelled in 
reading sea stories, 
and I am inclined 
to think that I had 
one of the biggest 
collections of small 
boats of any of the 
bovs in the school 
I left school when 
I was fourteen, and 
went into the 
steam - shipping 
office of a relative in my native town, 
Greenock, When about eighteen years of age 
I was transferred to Liverpool and joined the 
Cunard Company's service. At that time 
there were no steamers trading to America 
except those of the Cunard Company, and 
there were only three of those — the Caledonia, 
the Arcadia i and the Britannia. The ill 
fated President, and the British -built steamer, 
Great Western , were for a time engaged in 
the Atlantic business, but no regular line 
existed either from the Continent or Great 
Britain, except that known as the Cunard 
Line, then intru ted with the carrying of the 
mails to Halifax and Boston ; so that at the 
time referred to I was charged with the duty 
of making arrangements for all the cargo 
passing from Europe to America. 

" What a change since that time ! In 1849 
the Navigation of this country were 
abolished, and the United States reciprocated 
this policy, Up to that time no goods from 
the Continent or foreign ports could be car- 
ried into the States by British vessels, and no 
foreign produce could be imported into 
England by American ships. The trade 
between France and the Continent and the 
United States of America was very extensive 
and important— mind, I am speaking now of 
forty five years ago and I was dispatched 
to Havre and Paris to establish branch 
houses to take advantage of this new opening 
to British shipping. Within three days of 
my leaving England for France, a steamer 
was sent from Liverpool to Havre, and there 






was thus established a through service 
between France and America vid Liverpool, 
which still exists, and which has been most 
successful. However, shortly after the 
Havre trade had been secured I went to 
Bremen and to Antwerp, and at both ports 
established similar branch offices and steamej; . 
services for the Cunard Company." 

Here is what Mr. W. S. Gilbert would 
call a "highly 

connected with the Cunard 
Company's largely extended 
operations in the Atlantic 
and in the Mediterranean, 
and started for himself— the 
Castle sailing ship service 
between Liverpool, London, and the East 
Indies, which supplied him in due time with 
the nucleus of the efficient officers now 
employed in his fleet of steamers. 

It is very interesting to note how Sir 
Donald, after leaving steamers for sailing 
vessels, finally took once more to steamers 
and discarded sailing ships. It was not 
his wish to go back to the exciting life 



Donald Currie 
is the first man 
to admit that he 
owes much to 
those early 
struggling days. 
He worked 
honestly, and 
with purpose 
not to be turned 
aside, and it was 
not long before 
he found him- 
self in a very 
important posi- 
tion . The 
young man's 
pluck, and tact 
had become a 
matter of com- 
mon conversa- 
tion, and from 
1856 to 1862 
Sir Donald 
Currie was 
attached to the 
head-quarters of 
the Cunard 
Company in the 
management at 
Liverpool, his 
brother con- 
ducting the 
business at 
Havre ; but in 
the latter year 
he withdrew 
fr o m the 
onerous labour 


■g*6~^^/ ' <fc £^ 






%****^ *^stfa***9*6&? ■ 




Frederick, Crown Prince of Denmark; Louise, Crown Princess of Denmark. 1 u.^ 
of Sweden and Norway ; Alexander (Emperor of Russia) ; Marie (Empress 01 Russia) . 
Gcorgios (King of Greece) ; Olga (Queen of Greece) ; Nicholas (the Czarevitch) ; George 
and Xenia (the younger children of the Czar) ; Carl, of Denmark ; Alexandra. 

involved in steamship management ; his 

capital was engaged in sailing ships in 

preference. He had said that he was for all 

time going out of the steam business, but the looked ir 

fates would have it otherwise. This is how 

he came to be 
connected with 
the South African 
trade, in which he 
now holds such a 
high position. But 
it was not only in 
steamship enter- 
prise to and from 
the Cape and 
Natal that he was 
to be engaged, for in a 
very short time, owing 
to the singular political 
circumstances of that 
period, his capacity and 
readiness to serve South 
African interests became 

"In 1875," said Sir 
Donald, " complication! 
arose in South Africa 
in connection with 
the occupation of the 
Diamond Field District, 
known as Kimberley, by 
the British Government, 
and in connection with 
that, as well as with the 
Transvaal, President 
Burgers, of the late Re- 
public, known as the 
South African Republic, 
visited England. Lord 
Derby and Lord Car- 
narvon, acting for the 
Government of the day, 
intrusted to me the com- 
munication to be placed 
in the hands of President 
Burgers on his arrival 
at Plymouth ; and the 
President accompanied 
me to my house, where he 
stayed for some two or 
three months, the corre- 
spondence of the Presi- 
of the day being carried 
on with my assistance. 

" It is worthy of note 
that at that especial 
time it was known that 
proposals had been made 
to Prince Bismarck for the proclamation 
of a Protectorate by Germany over the 
Transvaal ; and this was not a matter over- 
looked in conversation between President 
Bu^ ff ,^ ffW lf;i| C fl eA ^scttlcmcnt_of 



1 84 



z* yu^^^ 



the treaty with Portugal which President 
Burgers completed, I did what I could, and 
secured for the Transvaal the transfer from 
Mr. G. P. Moodie, of Gold Fields fame, of the 
concession of the Delagoa Bay Railway, 
which had been granted to that gentleman 
by the Portuguese Government" 

It is a fact worthy of interest that in that 
agreement Sir Donald was made arbitrator 
in case of dispute, and eventually gave a 
judgment in favour of Mr. Moodie subse- 
quent to the annexation of the Transvaal by 
the British Government 

"Of the early history of gold mining/' 
continued Sir Donald, " in the Transvaal, 
a singular illustration is the fact of the 
President having brought to this country 
and placed in my hands a nugget 
found at Pilgrims' Rest in that territory, 
of the value of about ^600 sterling, 
and this nugget, by -the -bye, I exhibited 
at the first meeting of the Royal Co- 

lonial Institute at the 
South Kensington 
Museum, when Presi- 
dent Burgers was 
present and received 
the welcome of his 
friends, people won- 
dering if it could be 
true that there was 
gold in the Trans- 

"The Swazi ques- 
tion was at that 
moment being dis- 
cussed with the 
British Government, 
as well as the dif- 
ference between the 
Orange Free State 
and the Imperial Go- 
vernment as to the 
Diamond Fields, the 
latter being claimed 
by the Orange Free 
State Republic as 
within their territory. 
Immediately after the 
return of President 
Burgers to the Trans- 
vaal, President 
Brand, of the Orange 
Free State, visited 
England, at the re- 
quest of Lord Car- 
narvon, the Secretary 
of State for the 
Colonies, in the 
hope of arriving at a settlement of Jhe 
Diamond Fields' dispute ; and it was only 
after a long discussion with President 
Brand, spread over two or three months, 
that Lord Carnarvon made a final arrange- 
ment with him. Lord Carnarvon and 
President Brand, after agreeing upon the 
principles of settlement, left it to me 
to define the boundary and arrange the 
terms of agreement, and to draw up . the 
agreement which is now in the Colonial 
Office, signed by Lord Carnarvon and 
President Brand." 

For these services, acknowledged by Lord 
Carnarvon in the despatches published in the 
Blue Books of the time, the Queen made 
Sir Donald a K.C.M.G., and the Orange 
Free State Parliament voted him their unani- 
mous acknowledgments. 

"In 1876," Sir Donald said, "the mail 
contract with the Cape having come to an 

«■. "fflifftflt At' "** mail 



companies now carrying on the service— 
the Union Steamship Company and our 
Castle Line, In 1877, the year following, 
political matters in South Africa became very 
embarrassing, the Transvaal Boers resenting 
the authority of the British Crown ; and 
Messrs. Paul Kruger, Jorissen, and Bok were 
sent to Lord Carnarvon as a deputation 
to claim their independence. Owing to the 
friendly feeling shown both to the Trans- 
vaal and the Orange Free State previously, 
their delegates informed the British Govern- 
ment that they desired my assistance, and 

of the Transvaal, and with a view to some 
settlement which might prevent disturbance 
in that territory. I pointed out to the 
Government that an absolute and uncon- 
ditional refusal of the memorial of the 
inhabitants of the great South African 
Republic would be followed by scenes of 
disorder, and possibly of bloodshed ; and 
further, that the country would be dis- 
organized, as many of the people would 
leave; that there would be difficulty in 
collecting taxes, and settlers and intending 
emigrants might be alarmed ; commercial 

FrQin a f- J h'j 


(ffrwpu Hun a 

I introduced the deputation, at their wish, 
to the British Government They were not 
successful in obtaining what they desired, 
and subsequently, in July, 1878, a second 
and final deputation was sent from the 
Transvaal, appointed by the united voice of 
the burghers there. Messrs, Kruger } Joubert, 
and Bok were delegates, and their appeals 
were addressed to Sir Michael Hicks-Beach, 
the Secretary of State for the Colonies. The 
delegates named again came to me, and on 
the 19th of July, 1878, made a final appeal 
to the Conservative Government of the day 
in the interests of the peace and prosperity 



relations would be disestablished, and all 
progress injured for many a day to come in 
the Transvaal. In that communication I 
added that the Boers were so persuaded of 
the injustice of the course which had been 
pursued, that they had so strong a disposition 
to freedom and liberty of movement, and 
were so religiously mindful of facts in their 
past history, that they would sacrifice their 
property and risk their lives, as they had done 
before, for their convictions and what they 
deemed their just rights." 

From what Sir Donald told me, one can 

1 86 


/VtHH the Pictun fryj 


W. L W-;\l>.> ajla. 

very practical one for the solution of the 
difficulties that beset the Government. It 
was to the effect that the people should elect 
their own representatives, with other arrange- 
ments fitted to secure friendly co-operation 
between the different states and colonies in 
South Africa. Sir Donald urged that it 
would he easy to stir up angry feeling in the 
recollection of the Boers, of what they con- 
sidered injurious treatment at the hands of 
persons who held official positions ; but 
that, instead of antipathy and dislike, we 
might by good and kindly feeling secure 
their strong attachment, and in time clear 
away the prejudices that prevailed among 
them owing to our dealings with regard to 
the Diamond Fields and our past history in 
respect to the Transvaal and the Orange Free 

One strong point Sir Donald put forward 
to the Government was this, namely, that 
the Boers had a strong conviction of the 
value of a decision by a majority, and that 
they distinctly offered to recognise any 
arrangement, even of annexation to Eng- 
land, if a majority of qualified voters could 
be found in the Transvaal willing to declare 
for the maintenance of the present condi- 
tion of things. 

11 But you see/' said Sir Donald, "that the 
Government of the day took a very different 
course, and, on the 17th of August, 1878, 
upon the motion of Mr* Courtenay for the 
restoration of the independence of the 
Transvaal, Sir Michael Hicks-Beach, on 
behalf of the Ministry, made such an answer 

in the hearing of the delegates in Parliament 
as justified them in their opinion in returning 
to the Transvaal, telegraphing to me in 
Scotland, where it was intended that they 
should follow me, to say farewell. They 
visited Holland and Germany to obtain 
sympathy and assistance. 

"In the autumn of the same year, 187S, 
new troubles arose in South Africa ; war was 
declared against Cetewayo on the 4th of 
January, 1879, and on the nth of January 
British troops crossed into Zulu territory. 
On the 24th of January the British force was 
destroyed at Isandlana, of which incident, by- 
thebye, I am sorry to say I had to communi- 
cate the intelligence to the Government 
The episode of Rorke's Drift followed. In 
the rapid course of events of that day the 
British detachment of Sir Evelyn \Vnod 
had a hard struggle at Kumbula, while 
Colonel Pearson's third division was shut up 
in Ekowe and surrounded by Dabulamanzi, 
the brother of Cetewayo, with 10,000 or 
15,000 Zulus lying in wait for any sortie they 
might risk. This is how Cetewayo carried 
out his word to Sir Bar tie Frere : * If your 
soldiers attack me, I will tear them to pieces 
like a tiger. J 

"On the day that the news arrived of 
the disaster at Isandlana, preparations were 
immediately made by the Home Government 
to provide within forty-eight hours two 
steamers to carry troops to Natal J and 
with the cordial approval of the Minister of 
War, I sent a telegram to our company's 
steamer, then pacing that day the Island of 




1 . 

vessel calling at 
Cape Verd, the 
12,000 men or 
thereabouts armed 
and ready to start 
would have had to 
fight their way 
through the Zulus, 
with awful destruc- 
tion of life, whilst 
the fever -stricken 
and wounded left 
at Ekowe would 
have been at the 
mercy of the 
Zulus, and another 
Isandlana disaster 
would have 

t'tttm a] 



Madeira, to stop on her way to the Cape 
at Cape Vcrd for rny instructions. The 
Government had thus the three inter- 
vening days in which to decide on what 
course to follow, and the result was the 
transmission of telegraphic instructions by 
way of Cape Verd, which reached South 
Africa in fifteen days, instead of being 
delayed until the dispatch of the next 
steamer from England a week later. The 
minutes were previous, for the telegram 
referred to reached Sir Bartle Frere on the 
Tugela just in time to enable him to stop the 
sallying out of the troops from Ekowe, which 
had been ordered to sally out, and which 
were marshalled ready to^tart for the Tugela 
at the moment the heliograph signalled them 
to delay, 

*'Let me tell you how the garrison of 
Ekowe were saved. I know the facts, for a 
young naval officer, the second in command 
of the Naval Brigade attached to General 
Pearson's troops shut in Ekowe, wrote the 
following in his diary : — 

"'At a given date,' he said, 'when shut 
up, we saw a signal by heliograph from the 
Tugela, twenty miles off. It said : " Sally out 
on such and such a day. Dabulamanzi is 
between you and us with 10,000 Zulus." 
Then it became dark, and there was no signal 
for about three weeks ; but on the day we 
were to sally out we were marshalled with 
provisions to carry for twenty miles march 
and the Zulus in sight. Then the sun shone 
out, and the heliograph signalled : " Stop 
sallying out — troops are coming," and it 
went dark again.' 

u That was the message that had gone out, 
and if it had not been taken out by the 


It is due to 
Sir Donald Currie to record the fact 
that in a speech delivered in Perthshire, 
which Sir Donald represents in Parliament, 
Captain Campbell, of the Royal Navy, 
who was in command of the Naval Brigade 
at Ekowe, told the public meeting that their 
member had saved his life and that of his 
men ; and the Duke of Coburg in command 
of the fleet at the opening of the docks at 
Leith, at a banquet, informed the guests that 
that was why Her Majesty made Sir Donald 
Currie a K.CM.G. 

The Dublin Casik of Sir Donald Currie's 
line was dispatched from England within 
forty eight hours, and the soldiers on board 
mart bed from Natal to Ekowe, after a severe 
struggle with Dabulamanzi, and in this way 
the garrison was relieved. 

It should be pointed out that several years 
before, in 1875, Sir Donald urged upon the 
Government of this country the necessity 
for an alternative telegraph betw x een England 
and the East Indies, via the Cape, but it 
was only after the disaster at Isandlana that 
the Government put down that cable. 

Outside of the Cape Colony, Natal, the 
Transvaal, and Orange Free State, but in 
intimate association with their interests, the 
part which Sir Donald has had to play has 
been a singularly interesting and useful one, 
both on the South-West and South-East 
Coasts of South Africa. If the Government 
of the day had listened to the representations 
which he, with a deputation of South African 
merchants, made to Mr. Gladstone's Govern- 
ment for the annexation to the Cape Colony 
of Damaraland and Namaqualand, that 
territory so friendly to England would nave. 



the south-eastern side of Africa, at the 
moment when Germany was pressing its 
colonial policy in a direction of serious 
concern for both Natal and the Transvaal, it 
was at the urgent representation of Sir 
Donald Currie that Mr. Gladstone, six 
months after the South-West African failure 
of policy, yielded to his representations, and 
dispatched, upon the information which he 
gave, a telegram to the Cape authorizing the 
hoisting of the British flag at St Lucia Bay 
in Zululand> which was accomplished by the 
gunboat G&shawk* If this had not been 
carried out, the German flag would have been 
floating there within a few days afterwards, 
and both Pondoland and Natal as well a,s 
what is now British territory in Matabeleland, 
would have had a different history. 

had much scope for encouragement There 
is a great future for agriculturists in South 
Africa, and when the gold adventure has 
calmed down somewhat, as in Australia and 
California, we may hope for great and good 
things. In the high lands there are ample scope 
and inducement provided for those who have 
a little capital One disadvantage against 
securing success at the present moment is 
the presence of the native element, which 
hinders individual effort on the part of the 
emigrating agriculturist The land is so 
fruitful that the white population only care 
to develop it just for their own wants. 

" Many young men write to me and 
ask me shall they go to South Africa. 
I have invariably refrained from advising 
them to do so unless they have sufficient 

J"V«m a PtuiU). by | 


[Carl it nniU, 

The reader will observe that this inter- 
view has treated somewhat seriously of Sir 
Donald Currie 's work in connection with 
South African affairs, which are very much 
to the front at the moment of writing. 

For the last twenty years Sir Donald may 
be said to have been immersed in the history 
of South Africa, and it is singular that no 
other merchant or shipowner has especially 
interested himself in that country. Sir 
Donald is well known as a lecturer on 
maritime matters, and has received the gold 
medal of the Society of Arts. 

There was one question of considerable 
moment which I put to Sir Donald Currie 
before leaving him, and that was : " What 
chance has the emigrant in South Africa ? " 

He replied : " The miner — that is, the gold 
or copper miner — has had great inducements 
there, but agricultural talent has not hitherto 

means to keep themselves going until 
they find an opportunity of utilizing their 
abilities. It is no good for anyone to think 
of going to South Africa unless he has 
some backbone and some money to 
keep him going till he sees a chance of 
success. They go out T expecting to find 
occupation when they have had none 
here ; many have no business capacity, and 
such young fellows generally join the Cape 
Police or the Mounted Rifles, and then settle 
down. Still, whilst making this state- 
ment, let me add that I believe that the 
Cape Colony and Natal, the Orange Free State 
and the Transvaal— not to speak of Mashona- 
land — will yet offer more and more oppor- 
tunities to young men of sound judgment and 
good business habits than they can find in 
this country, or indeed in many of our other 


Ostrich Farming in South Africa. 

By Charles W. Carey. 

k' -. ... J^'^fawgfc, 

.-m. ^w 1 ^"^^BES^^t^^^^^ 

"- - •;' •- - "^SSP 




ERHAPS no other English 
Colony is exciting so much 
interest at the present time as 
South Africa. For months 
past the pages of newspapers 
and periodicals have been 
filled with news from the north, where our 
admirable band of volunteers have succeeded 
in repulsing the redoubtable Lobengula, 
King of the Matahele race. 

I .et me give you some sort of an idea of the 
surrounding country in which we are situated. 
It is a country unlike any other on the globe. 
The general character is flat and sandy, 
relieved only by long, low, rocky sierras. 
These mountain ranges are the salvation of 
the landscape. Their craggy outlines are 
caned into a thousand abrupt and striking 
forms, their heads are constantly haunted by 
low-lying clouds of vapour, which the con- 
tending sun and wind draw together and 
disperse. Their sides are hollowed into 
ravines, or " kloofs/' and painted by the 
clear distance into a perfect argosy ot 
changing hues. The apparently parched and 
sandy flats are covered by different varieties 
of dwarf bush, which are nibbled by the 

A dry and arid prospect, and it is hard to 
conceive every inch of it is loaded below 
with vegetable life ready to shoot after the 
first rains of spring into a wealth of verdant 
grasses. Here and there dotted about on 
these flats can be seen the white farm- 
buildings nestling among the trees— an oasis 

in the desert, in fact. These green spots can 
be seen for miles and miles away, with the 
whitewashed buildings glittering in the sun. 
Foliage is only to be seen around the home- 
steads and occasionally at an isolated 
fountain. The veldt all round is cheerless 
and naked, without so much as a rag of 
vegetation to cover it, and the eye hungers 
for a tree; the bones or stones stick 
painfully out, a sight for the geologist, not 
the artist. 

You arrive at the homestead, a square, red- 
brick building, with a sigh of relief, and glad 
to be out of the blinding glare and sandy 
plain. On every homestead the same familiar 
sights meet the eye. On the one side of the 
house stand the kraals; on the other, the shed 
and waggon-house. In front stands the dam, 
adjoining the vegetable-garden and lands, 
with farther away the camp. Behind the 
house are the chaff-house, tramp floor, and 
butcher's shop, where the niggers are rationed. 
In the camp run the large stock, cattle, 
ostriches, and horses ; and on the flats and 
mountains the sheep and goats, In this 
article I shall confine my remarks to ostriches. 

To our friends at home, the ostrich is the 
centre of interest in South African farming, 
and it is the ostrich alone that excites every- 
one's curiosity and makes them take an 
interest in the life. So let me here give you 
some idea of the birds, with their ways 
and manner of conducting themselves when 
domesticat^d:|inal from 



luxury in the Colony, and is only to be met 
with on the wealthier farms, the owners of 
which can afford to keep them in repair, and 
to place in them stock of the more expensive 
kinds. Every ostrich farmer has his camp, 
which varies in size considerably, from 3,000 
to 8,ooo acres, and in it he keeps his 300 or 
500 birds, as well as a few cattle and horses, 
A camp is always selected as being the 
best piece of grazing ground on the farm, 
and capable of holding more stock in pro- 
portion than any other part of the farm. 
Here the birds remain year in and year out, 
and are only collected and brought together, 
on the average, once every four months. 

out inflicting pain on the bird, and at the 
same time leaving enough to keep out the 

An ostrich, like most other animals, in its 
wild state is terribly afraid of man or of any 
unfamiliar sight, and flees at the appearance 
of anything new to its ken. When domesti- 
cated it becomes docile, and after a time 
assumes a position of authority and becomes 
master of the situation. From June up to 
September, or, in fact, till Christmas, thou- 
sands of chicks are reared every year, and 
thousands meet with death every year from 
some form of accident Chicks up to twelve 
months old die from % j arious maladies, but 




These occasions are, let us say, in June, 
to pluck the prime feathers, By these we 
mean the long whites, numbering from 
eighteen to twenty in each wing, eight or 
nine fancy feathers, and a few long blacks, 
all taken at the same time. Four months 
later the stumps of these feathers are drawn 
out, and two months later again— that is, six 
months after the primes — the short blacks 
and tail feathers are taken. Of these it is 
impossible to give any accurate number. As 
a rule, you pluck as many as possible with- 

seldom after they are full grown are they the 
victims of any sickness, death usually resulting 
from a broken leg, killed fighting, or from 
scarcity of food in times of drought. 

The nest of an ostrich is a very crude 
affair, consisting simply of a round hollow 
caned out in the sandy ground. Sometimes 
the female bird may be seen scratching in 
the ground preparatory to laving her first 
egg ; but this is not often the case, the 
hollow generally being made by the con- 
tinuous sitting ol the birds on the one 




f jy/ph a I 



spot. One pair of birds will lay from ten 
to twenty eggs; but T as is often the case, three 
or four birds will lay in the one nest, thus 
making the number of eggs tip to seventy or 
eighty. These, of course, have to be weeded 
out, as a bird cannot comfortably cover more 
than sixteen eggs, the remainder being 
thrown on one side and left to decay. 

Forty- four days is the recognised time to 
allow for hatching. When a nest is hatched 
out the family are taken out of the camp, 
and brought to the homestead to be tamed, 
where they come in continual contact with 
the farm hands, and are housed at night out 
of the reach of wild animals. During the 
summer months they will do well, but in 
winter, when food becomes scarcer, must be 
fed morning and evening on barley or rape. 

It is during the breeding season that the 
male becomes so savage, and his note of 
defiance — " brooming/ 7 as the Dutch call it- 
is heard night and day. The bird inflates 
his neck in a cobra-like fashion and gives 
utterance to three deep roars. The first two 
are short, but the third very prolonged. Lion- 
hunters all agree in asserting that the roar of 
the king of beasts and the most foolish of 
birds resemble one another almost exactly. 
When the birds are properly savage they 
become a great source of amusement — or, 
as some think, of danger. Certainly, to be 
overtaken all on a sudden without time for 
preparation by a cheeky bird is one of the 
greatest ills flesh is heir to, and might result 
disastrously to the uninitiated ; but old hands 
are always all there on an emergency. 

Undoubtedly the best weapon— barring a 

Drawing the fork 
him a blow on 

wire - fence — is a good 
stout stick or blunt pitch- 
fork. As a rule, if a bird 
means to have your life 
or die in the attempt, he 
charges from about thirty 
yards, when you receive 
him at the bayonet's point. 
He rushes at you with 
flashing eye* looking the 
very embodiment of fury. 
Drawing himself up to a 
height of ten feet or more, 
with wings outstretched 
and hissing like a cobra, 
he makes four or five 
strikes. You retreat a pace 
or two, so as to avoid the 
fork piercing through his 
neck, and hold him off at 
arm's length till he learns 
that his efforts are useless, 
sharply away, you strike 
the neck, rendering him 
insensible and taking away his breath. This 
quiets him for a while, till he recovers from 
his bewilderment and makes a fresh charge, 
when the fork is again presented. 

I have seen a bird so savage as to charge 
seven times in fifteen minutes, twice receiving 
the prongs of the fork through his neck. On 
horseback one is even more obnoxious to an 
ostrich than on foot, but, so long as the horse 
is not afraid and will stand up to the bird, there 
is no fear of an accident. As he charges take 
care to have your horse well in hand, and as 
the bird makes his first strike, catch him by 
the neck and hold on for all you're worth, till 
the bird becomes exhausted from want of 
breath and falls. 

The female bird is seldom vicious. When 
she has a nest or brood of young chicks one 
must be prepared, but her manner of charg- 
ing and whole demeanour is a very mild 
affair compared to the male's. 

Perhaps it may suggest itself to some of 
my readers : what would result supposing 
three or four birds tackled you at once? It 
is a very rare occurrence for more than one 
bird to charge at a time. Should three or four 
male birds all imagine at one particular 
moment that you are the meat of each one of 
them separately, they first of all tackle one 
another, the conqueror fighting you. 

Collecting birds for plucking is always a 
great day on the farm. Orders are given 
overnight to the Kaffirs and Hottentots to 
catch every available riding-horse and have 
them saddled -up and ready next morning at 




sunrise. This is done, and every " boy }i on 
the farm who can find a horse is mounted, 
and a regular cavalcade enters the camp* 
under the superintendence of " De Boss van 
de Plaats " — the master of the farm. They 
split up into parties of two each, and start off 
in different directions to drive up the birds 
from the remote spots to which they have 
wandered. Warfare } of course, is freely 
indulged in. It is immaterial to an ostrich 
if there be one or fifty against him ? he fights 
just as merrily. 

There exists a traveller's tale at home that, 
as soon as an 
ostrich catches 
sight of a human 
being, he turns tail 
and bolts in an 
opposite direc- 
tion to hide his 
head in the sand 
Another fallacy, 
equally devoid of 
foundation, is the 
belief that the 
female leaves her 
eggs in the sand 
to be hatched out 
in the sun. This 
is not so. The 
male and female 
sit alternately for 
forty - four days : 
the male at night, 
the female during 
the daytime. As an 

article of food an ostrich egg is, to my taste, 
the most nauseous of dishes, and far mort 
suitable as an effective weapon in Chinese and 
political warfare than to grace a breakfast table. 
From all one had heard previous to 
becoming oneself an owner of 
actual plucking of the birds 
interesting and disappointing, 
are all huddled together in a 

ostriches, the 

is very un- 

The birds 

kraal — when 

every bird becomes as meek as a lamb— and 
are caught one by one ; a bag or stocking is 
placed over the head and neck, while two ex- 
perienced niggers clip the feathers. During 

winter the birds 
must be attended 
to and carefully 
watched, as some- 
times the w r eather 
is very inclement 
for weeks together 
— the thermome- 
ter often register- 
ing ten degrees of 
frost — and birds 
are apt to fall off 
in condition. If a 
bird once begins 
to sink in condi- 
tion, the greatest 
difficulty is experi- 
enced in getting 
him right again, 
and often no 
amount of extra 
feeding will pull 
him through. 




From a PJtok- &v H. E Ftipp^ B#t*tfort W**t. Cape vf flood Hot*. 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

culars we refer our readers to an 
"Illustrated Interview" with Sir 
Donald, appearing in this number. 

K.CM.G, M.R 
Born 1825. 

RIE, K.GM.O,M.P. s 

is the son of the late Mr. 
James Currie. He is 
at the head of Donak 
Currie & Co., owners of the Castle 
Line of steamships between Lon- 
don and South Africa* Sir Donald 
takes an active interest in all ques- 
tions connected with South Africa, 
and he has rendered great services 
to the country and the Govern- 
ment Fur his services in settle- 
ment of the Diamond Fields dis- 
pute and the Orange Free State 
boundary he was made a CMX1, 
in 1877, and in 1881 a K.GM.G. 
for further assistance during the 
Zulu War, For further parti - 


Vol viiL— 26. 





Chamber since 187 1. M. Carnot occupied 
successively the position of Under Secre- 
tary and Minister of Public Works; and in 
the Cabinets of M, de Freycinet and M* 
Brisson he held the portfolio of Finance. 
As Minister of Finance, M. Carnot dis- 

Born 1837. 

jj^^BARlE Fran- 

i qo[s Sadc 

k Carnot, 
ffijjLg late Resi- 
dent of 
the French Republic, 
who, on the 24th of 
June, fell a victim to 
the murderous hand 
of a fanatic, was born 
at Limoges. He was 
a grandson of General 
Carnot, known in his- 
tory as the '* Organizer 
of Victory." M, Car- 
not entered the Ecole 
Polytechnique at the 
age of twenty, our 
first portrait showing 
young Carnot in his 
uniform of Pofyiech- 
nicitn. He first 
entered Par I i am en t 
as member for Cote 
d'Or, which he repre- 
sented continuously 
in the National 
Assembly and in th.r EC 

iVuttl ir 


AGE 35. 

played remarkable 
foresight and courage 
in disclosing to Parlia- 
ment the difficulties 
of the financial posi- 
tion of the country, 
and in suggesting 
means of overcoming 
them. Physically the 
late President was a 
thin man, of regular 
features, slightly 
severe and hard in 
expr essio n . It was 
on the resignation 
of ML Gr£vy, on 
December 2nd, 
1887, that M. Carnot 
was elected Presi- 
dent of the Republic, 
In expressing our 
heartfelt sympathies 
to the French nation 
for her great loss, 
we are sure we echo 
the feelings of all 



called to the Bar at 
Lincoln's Inn in 
1 86 1 , where he soon 
rose to eminence as 
an equity lawyer. 
He obtained a silk 
gown in 1875. 
For a few months 
in 1886 he was 
under Mr, Glad- 
stone, being raised 
to the Bench as a 
Lord Justice of 
Appeal in Septem- 
ber, 1893* 

From a jptafupraia*, 

i f KteSh%"T DAY 




AGS Jz, 

from {i fMo^ bv W. H+ flawn* P«*A«m* 


Born 1859, 

jOBERT ABEL, popularly known 
as the "Guv'nor/ 7 made his first 
appearance in the Surrey Eleven 

£g5^] at the Oval against Notts in 1881, 
but it was not until 1883 that he 
repaid the county for the confidence placed 
in him. In 1886, while playing for Surrey 
against Australia, he scored 144 runs, remain- 
ing at the wicket nearly seven hours. In 
1 89 1 he made 197, his highest score in first- 
class cricket. As a bowler he is often in- 

From a Photo, bv tkt Kitnbtriev i'hotoffraphK ftwrffe. 

valuable, but is, perhaps, seen at his best 
at short slip. His 168 (not out) against 
Gentlemen of England this year proves that 
he still maintains his position as one of the 
best all-round men in England, 

• • 


A I i t 1 ■ . 


OrinLfniAl fn^nn 

?ft&51£MT DAY. 

J M very sorry for you, Leigh!" 
" Thanks. You've said that 
before, though." 

" Well, you need not be 
so disagreeable ; I really am 
sorry for you, and would help 
you if I could/ 1 

The speaker was an elderly man, with an 
intellectual face and a head of tangled grey 
hair, who stood by a couch on which lay a 
young man with his head bandaged and his 
arm in a sling, 

u You had better try and put it all out of 
your mind for a month," he went on, com- 
passionately. " You can't work, so what's 
the good of worrying?" 

u The fact that I can't work is the reason 
why I worry," said Leigh. "If I had only 
finished my book before this accident hap- 
pened, I shouldn't care. Hut publishers are 
like time and tide, they wait for no man, as 
you might know, one would think ! " 

"I thought the doctor did not w T ant you 
to use your head at all," said the elder man. 

"Oh! he doesn't mind now. I'm all 
right again, really ; only he says he must 
keep my eyes bandaged for another fortnight, 
4 just as a precautionary measure/ Pre- 
cautionary humbug, I call it ! " 

"Well, then, employ an amanuensis," said 


V*L viiL--27, 

Morris Holt, taking no notice of the last 

14 So I would, if" I could find one worth 
having ; but how can I find one while I'm 
stuck here on this sofa ? And somehow, when 
a fellow is ill, people seem such a bother." 

" I have a young cousin whom I think 
might do," said Holt. " I never thought of it 
till this minute : I always forget everything ! 
A London B.A. Worked in the British 
Museum. All that sort of thing. Too poor 
to ask high terms ; very accurate and a really 
good scholar," 

" Well, that praise means something from 
you," said Leigh, rather grudgingly. 1( We 
mi^ht have an interview to-morrow afternoon, 
anyway, if you'll arrange it for me," 

"All right ; I must be off now. I only 
meant to stay two minutes, but I had no 
idea you had been so ill." 

He shook the uninjured hand, and made 
his way towards the door, tripping against a 
stool as he peered short-sight edly for the 

A shout from Leigh made him pause just 
as he was closing the door* " Stop a minute ! 
What name did you say ? " 

" Holt. Sydney Holt ! " he said, opening 
the door an inch or two and shutting it again, 

" Poor chafl^]^ guttered, as he made 




his way down the steep stone staircase of the 
flat. "But it's just the thing for Sydney. 
I'll go round there now." 

Morris Holt was one of the most oblivious 
and absent-minded men in the world, but he 
had a fund of kindness within him when he 
remembered to use it, and on this cold, wet 
November evening he went nearly a mile out 
of his way that he might convey the news of 
employment to his young relative at once. 

It was a dingy street into which he turned, 
and the house at which he stopped was one 
of the dingiest of the row. An untidy 
servant-girl admitted him, and stood aside to 
let him go up to the first floor. 

Mr. Holt stumbled up the dark staircase 
and knocked at the first door he came to. 

" Come in ! " cried a voice from inside, 
and he turned the handle and entered. The 
room was like hundreds of others in cheap 
London lodging-houses. The furniture was 
worn and shabby, the ceiling discoloured, 
and the window-panes dirty ; but there were 
a few touches here and there which showed 
that the occupant was a person of refine- 

A girl, whose curly hair was cut short over 
her head, and whose pale face showed the 
marks of over-work, threw down her pen and 
rose to greet him with a smile. 

"Why, cousin Morris !" she said, "I have 
not seen you for weeks ! " 

" No, my dear," said Mr. Holt, sitting 
down in the chair she pushed forward for 
him, " I have been out of town. I was at the 
Museum yesterday arid to-day, but I did not 
see you, Sydney. Where have you been ? iS 

" At home," said Sydney, rather mournfully. 
14 Or, rather, I tired myself out yesterday 
going to three different schools in want of 
teachers ; but they were all filled up before I 
got there ! " 

" I am sorry I have not been able to help 
you more," said Mr. Holt, with a little 
remorse in his tone. " But it is next door to 
impossible ; everything is so crowded. How- 
ever I am forgetting what I came to tell you, 
and I must make haste, because I am going 
out of town again to-morrow, and I am very 
busy. A friend of mine who is wTiting a 
book has had an accident, and can't use his 
eyes for a time. He is worrying himself to 
death about it, and wants to get someone to 
help him. It must be someone up in the 
classics, because there are a lot of Greek 
quotations ; so I suggested you, and he would 
like you to go round to-morrow afternoon. 
There's the address." He threw a card on 
the table as he spoke and got up to go. 

Digiiized by V_iOOgle 

" But shall I be able to do what he wants ? M 
said Sydney, doubtfully. 

" Oh ! yes ; I told him all about you, you 
know, and he thought you would do." 

There were many other things that Sydney 
wanted to ask, but her cousin was in a hurry 
to be off, and she could not detain him. She 
stood for a long time with the card in her 
hand after he had gone, as though it could 
tell her all the things that he had left unsaid. 
" Oliver Leigh, 

6, Lincoln Gardens." 

That was all. She had never heard the 
name before, and it conveyed nothing to her 
mind. But she had no doubt about going, 
for her funds were so low that it seemed 
to her sometimes as though starvation was 
not far off. Her hopes had been very high 
when she got her degree and started on a 
career in London, but as she learnt more and 
more of the over-stocked condition of the 
teaching world, they had sunk lower and 
lower. Her cousin had no influence there, 
but he had procured her a few pieces of 
literary hack-work from time to time, which 
just kept her head above water. 

She set out about three o'clock the next 
afternoon and made her way to Lincoln 
Gardens. It was as dull and damp a day as 
the previous one had been, and she debated 
within herself whether she should not do her 
dress more than eighteenpence worth of 
damage by walking; however, she had only 
five shillings in hand to last to the end of the 
week, so she picked her way as well as she 
could through the mud. 

Lincoln Gardens was reached at last, and 
having pressed the electric bell at the door, 
a dirty little boy in buttons admitted her. 

" Mr. Leigh ? " he said, in answer to her 
inquiry. " Yes, 'e's in. Third floor ! " and 
so saying, he disappeared down a passage, 
leaving Sydney to make her way up. 

The door at the head of the third staircase 
stood open, and her timid knock was 
answered by a voice, in obedience to which 
she entered. The room formed a strong 
contrast to her own. A bright fire burned 
on the hearth, throwing its leaping lights and 
shadows over the picture-covered walls and 
the soft hues of carpet and curtains. But 
Sydney's eyes were not attracted by the 
room ; they were fixed in mute surprise upon 
its owner. She had expected to see an 
elderly, grey-headed man, like her cousin ; 
but the hair that appeared over the bandages 
was thick and dark, and the figure in the 
arm-chair was that of a man in the prime of 
youth. She was so taken aback that she 





hesitated on the threshold, uncertain what to 
do ; but in the meantime he could not see 
her and she was obliged to speak. 

" My cousin, Mr. Morris Holt, asked me 
to call on you to day, about some work," 
she said. 

" Oh ! yes; come in," said Leigh. " Excuse 
my getting up, I'm rather lame. Holt was 
here yesterday, and said he thought you 
could do what I want; but I should think 
you're very young, by your voice ! " 

Sydney thought that his manners were 
decidedly peculiar, but she knew that she 
must not mind such things as these, " Yes, 
I am young, " she said, " but I have taken 
the B.A. degree at the London University, 
and I have had some experience in literary 
work, too." 

" Oh ! well, I daresay you'll do all right," 
said Leigh. " I'll try you, anyhow. My 
doctor says I mustn't do more than three 
hours' work a day at present. He's a chum 
of mine, who comes in every morning to 
bandage me up for the day and all that kind 
of thing; so we had better work from two 

Digitized by V^iQOQ IC 

till five, if that will suit 

" Very well indeed," said 

"All right, then. We 
ought to finish the work in 
a fortnight ; I hope you can 
write a clear hand. Oh ! 
and about terms: will two 
guineas a week do for you ? " 
" Certainly," said Sydney, 
who had not dared to expect 
so much. 

" We may as well begin at 
once, then. You'll find the 
papers on the writing-table. 
Tell me when you are ready, 
and I'll fire away." 

Sydney arranged the 
papers and began to write. 
The book was one dealing 
with certain aspects of Greek 
drama, and the quotations 
made the work difficult; but 
the subject was one which 
thoroughly interested her, 
and the time sped rapidly 

Five o'clock chimed out 

at last from the little clock 

on the mantelpiece, and 

Leigh gave a satisfied sigh. 

" I suppose we must stop," 

he said, u or I shall get into 

a row with my doctor. However, we've got 

on capitally, so I won't complain. Be sure 

you come punctually to-morrow." 

" I will be certain to be here," said 
Sydney, opening the door as she spoke. 

11 All right, and if you see your cousin, you 
can tell him I think you'll do very well. 
You really have a very decent amount of 
scholarship, though I should think you're 
not much more than a boy ! " 

Sydney gave a startled little gasp as he 
uttered the last words, and escaped before 
he could add anything more. So this was 
the meaning of his cursory remarks and his 
off-hand ways ! Morris had evidently only 
spoken of her as his "cousin," without 
mentioning her name; or, even if he had 
mentioned it, it would have told nothing 
unless he added an explanation. Why had 
she not been called Ada or Caroline, instead 
of Sydney? 

All through her homeward walk she was 
debating what she could do. Should she ask 
her cousin to explain ? But he was gone out 
of town, and she did not even know his 




address. Should she explain the mistake 
herself ? But the idea was too formidable ! 
After all, it was only an hour or two in the 
day for a fortnight ; it would soon be over. 

She hardly noticed the discomforts of her 
room that evening ; her mind was too much 
occupied with the events of the day, and 
instead of worrying over her money troubles 
when she went to bed, she fell asleep wonder- 
ing what the marrow would bring. 

Leigh was waiting for her when she arrived 
the next afternoon. " Here you are ! " he 
said, cheerfully. " The doctor says I'm none 
the worse for the work yesterday, so that's all 
right We shall soon finish, at this rate." 

Sydney soon became as interested in the 
book as the author himself. It showed a 
depth of research and a broad way of dealing 
with facts that gave her a very high opinion 
of his mind. She admired him also for his 
patience under the trials that had befallen 
him, and day by day she found herself look- 
ing forward more eagerly to their hours of 

Leigh, on his part, felt a growing admira- 
tion for his secretary. 

"You never bother me, somehow," he said, 
one day. "Some fellows are so clumsy, 
knocking things over, and making all sorts of 
mistakes. But you are uncommonly quiet, I 
must say, and yet you are sharp enough, too ! 
That suggestion you made yesterday was 
really very good ; I thought about it a great 
deal in the night." 

" I am glad you think I can do the work," 
said Sydney. 

"You do it remarkably 
well!" said Leigh. "You 
really ought to turn out 
something or other one of 
these days. I don't know 
why I always imagine you 
are so young ; I suppose it's 
your voice." 

" Can I do anything more 
for you before I go?" said 
Sydney, passing over the 
difficult question. 

"Yes. I wish you would 
just give me a rug. I get so cold sitting 
here, and the doctor won't let me try my 
ankle yet. I wish that horse hadn't managed 
to stand on so many places at once when 
it knocked me over." 

Sydney felt a rush of sympathy go through 
her, but she dared not express it. She put 
the rug softly over him and went back to the 

" I think I shall come out a poet at last," 


said Leigh, in a dreamy tone. "I don't 
know why, but I seemed to think of stars and 
music and the 4 sweet south ' on a bank of 
violets, all in a breath just now." 

" Good afternoon," said Sydney, opening 
the door and taking a sudden departure. 

" I shall have to tell him," she said to 
herself, desperately, as she hastened down the 
stone staircase. "And yet — there are only 
three days more ! " 

" I say, young man," began Leigh in a 
playful tone when his secretary arrived on 
the next afternoon, " you ought not to leave 
your love-tokens about on other people's 
tables ! The doctor told me I might take a 
walk round my room this morning; the 
housekeeper was to have helped me, but she 
never appeared, so I had to clutch on to the 
things as best I could, and as I caught hold 
of the writing-table I found this ! " 

He held up a ribbon as he spoke, which 
Sydney recognised directly as one that she 
had missed when she reached home. 

"Well, are you not going to ask for it 
back?" said Leigh, finding that he got no 
answer. " I shall just tell your cousin the 
little tale when I see him next ! " 

" Please give it to me," said Sydney, in a 
low voice. 




Leigh thought that he had given offence, 
and relinquished the ribbon at once. It 
seemed to him rather foolish to be upset by 
such a trivial thing, but he was too kind- 
hearted not to try and make amends. 

" I shall be quite sorry when our work 
comes to an end ! " he said, pleasantly, when 
five o'clock sounded the hour of Sydney's 

" So shall I ! " thought Sydney, but she 
did not say so. 

" In fact," went on Leigh, " I have some- 
thing to propose to you. The doctor says 
the bandage may come off my eyes in a day 
or two, but I am not to use them much at 
first Will you stay on and help me, if you 
have nothing better to do? No one has 
ever suited me so admirably as you have 
done, and I do not feel at all inclined to let 
you go." 

Sydney's heart [beat almost to suffocation. 
How could she answer him? In a day or 
two at furthest he must discover the decep- 
tion that she had practised upon him. 

11 You don't seem to like the idea much ! " 
said Leigh, in a disappointed tone. " Perhaps 
you have something else in view ; but I 
gathered from what your cousin told me that 
you have not been getting on very fast. Has 
your father other plans for you ? " 

" I have no father," said Sydney, glad of a 
question that she could reply to. " I have 
been an orphan for some years, and I never 
had any brothers or sisters." 

"Then why will you not agree to my 
proposal ? " said Leigh. " It would probably 
be only a temporary thing, and I would not 
stand in the way 
of your taking 
anything else that 
turned up." 

"It is not 
that," said Sydney, 
in a low voice. 

"What is it, 
then?" asked 
Leigh, rather 

Sydney could 
not reply, her 
heart was too full. 
She felt her eyes 
filling with tears, 
and in the effort 
to choke down 
her feelings a sob 
escaped her lips. 

Leigh gave a 
sudden start and 

half rose from his seat, but sank back 
again as his injured foot gave way under 
him. Sydney watched him anxiously; she 
dared not speak, but in another moment she 
saw him raise his hand as though to tear the 
bandage from his eyes. 

"No, no," she cried, fear for him over- 
coming every other feeling : " you must not 
do it ; you will ruin your sight for ever." She 
darted forward as she spoke and seized his 

Instead of snatching away his hand, Leigh 
took hers between both his own and held it 
firmly. It quivered like a little frightened 
bird in the captor's grasp, but he would not 
let it go. It was small, and soft, and warm, 
and he stroked it lightly with his fingers. 

" This is not a man's hand ! " he said. 

" Oh ! I will tell you the truth ! " cried 
Sydney, despairingly. " My cousin told me 
about your work, and I wanted the money so 
much, and he said that he had told you all 
about me. And then when I came I found 
you did not know, and he was away, and I 
could not make up my mind to tell you, and 
I hoped you would never find it out ! But 
now I will go away, and I shall never come 

She drew her hand away from him, but as 
he released it, he pulled the bandage from 

by Google 





his eyes before she knew what he was 
doing ! 

The sight that met his eyes he will never 
forget till his dying day. The small, slight 
figure before him was clad in a dress of some 
dark woollen material, that any woman would 
have told him at once was old-fashioned and 
shabby. But Leigh saw nothing of that; 
he only knew that the curls that lay tossed 
all over the little head glittered like gold in 
the firelight, that the pale cheeks were tinged 
with delicate colour, and that her eyes shone 
like stars through the tears that hung on 
their lashes ! 

But the vision only lasted for a moment. 
Turning passionately from him, she caught 
up her things and flew from the room. 

How Sydney found her way home that 
night she never knew. A tumult of feelings 
surged through her heart, but in the midst 
of it all one resolve was fixed within her — 
nothing should ever take her back ! What 
though her work was unfinished; what though 
she had not as yet received the much-needed 
money ? She would rather starve than ever 
see him again ! 

Leigh, meanwhile, was passing through an 
equal tumult, but his thoughts were much 
pleasanter than Sydney's. His principal fear 
was that she would fulfil her threat of not 
returning, and as the next afternoon came 
and went, dragging out its weary hours in 
dull loneliness, he became gradually con- 
vinced that she had really meant what she 

"Never mind, I'll go and see her to- 
morrow," he thought " I can get downstairs 
and into a cab well enough now." 

But when the next day came a sudden 
thought flashed upon him that filled him with 
dismay. He had not the vaguest notion of 
her address ; and more than this, rave and 
storm as he might, there was no chance of 
his finding it out unless her cousin had come 
back to town ! He had been allowed to 
exchange his bandage for a shade, and 
reaching pen and paper he wrote off a hasty 
note with no explanations, merely asking for 
the address by return of post. 

But Morris Holt was still out of town, 
and the note lay unopened amid a pile of 
letters on his writing-table for several days, 
during which Leigh went through an agony 
of suspense. Perhaps his note had been 
lost, and had never reached its destination ; 
perhaps she had guessed what he would do, 
and had forbidden her cousin to send the 
address ! Then a new agony began. She 
had told him herself how much she wanted 

Digitized by CiOOgJC 

the money; perhaps she was starving, and 
there was no one to help her. He worried 
and distressed himself till the doctor shook 
his head, and ordered him to the South of 

Leigh took no notice of his advice. Every- 
thing seemed to go by him in a dream, until 
one day a post-card was brought up to him, 
with two lines written upon it, that ran like 
an electric stream through his frame. The 
words were these : — 

" Only just back in town. 24, South 
Street, Chilton Square." 

Sydney was sitting alone that afternoon in 
her cheerless room. She could not afford a 
fire, and the clinging damp made everything 
chilly and uncomfortable. She had at last 
heard of some teaching, but the salary was 
small, and she would not receive anything 
until the end of the term. 

A week ago at this time a very different 
scene had surrounded her, but that thought 
was too painful to be borne as yet ! 

A ring at the bell and a heavy step on the 
stair roused no expectations in Sydney's 
mind ; no one ever came to see her but her 
cousin, and she thought that he was still 
away. But to her surprise the steps paused 
at her door, and the servant-girl threw it 
open without any attempt at announcement, 
and in another moment Oliver Leigh stood 
before her ! 

He was breathless with his ascent and 
leant heavily upon his stick ; but he had left 
off his bandages, and his eyes rested eagerly 
upon her. 

" I should have been here days ago," he 
exclaimed, " but I had no clue to your 
address, and I was obliged to wait until I 
could get it from your cousin. The days 
have seemed like an eternity ! " 

He paused ; but Sydney could find no 
words in which to answer. 

" Are you angry with me for coming ?" he 
asked. " You would not be, if you knew 
how terribly I have missed you." 

" I am not angry," said Sydney, in a 
scarcely audible voice, while she raised her 
eyes for a moment to his. 

Leigh's face brightened. " I cannot part 
from you again ! " he exclaimed. " I have 
come here to-day to ask you to be my wife." 

" But we have known each other such a 
little time," said Sydney, trying to repress the 
joy that trembled through her at his words. 
She knew that she should never love any 
other man as she loved him, but she feared 
that he might be yielding to a sudden impulse 
which he would ?ftenrards repent 




send me away is 
you do not love 

"Do you call it a little while?" he said 
"It stems to me that I have known you for 
years. You must remember that a fortnight 
of work together like outs is worth a year of 
ordinary acquaintance. No, I cannot take 
that as an answer, The only thing that will 
for you to tell me that 
me. Can you tell me 
that? !? 

There was an entreating accent in his 
voice against which Sydney was not proof. 
"No/' she said, softly, and the brief negative 
conveyed a whole world of assent 

The dreary room, with all its chill dulness, 
disappeared as if by magic, transfigured and 
glorified by a haze of golden light. 

Cold, weariness, poverty, all were forgotten, 
blotted out from Sydney's memory by the 
sudden rush of happiness j while Leigh felt 
that this was the moment for which he had 
been waiting all his life. 

" You must not forget that you owe me 
two days' work! " he said at last, looking at 
her with a smile* 

" I dont owe them ! " sard Sydney, play- 

fully- "You have never paid me anything 
at all yet ! ? ' 

Leigh's smile faded and he bowed his 
head on hers. "I can't bear to think of 
what you have suffered, my little one ! r? he 
said. "But that is all over now. There is 
nothing to wait for ; let us be married at once, 
and we will go abroad together. I believe 
the doctor told me I ought to go to a warm 
climatu for a little while, so we will forget all 
these dark days in love and sunshine ! I 
shall never be thankful enough that your 
cousin sent you to me," 

" Do you think we need tell him alt the 
story ? s? said Sydney, anxiously, 

" No, dear, no ! " said Leigh. " It is too 
sweet a story to be spoilt by telling ■ we will 
keep it all to ourselves." 

And thus it came to pass that when Morris 
Holt read the letter that told him of Sydney's 
engagement, he said to himself, with his 
usual abstracted smile: "Ah! yes, I saw 
Leigh was interested directly I told him 
about her ; Sydney may thank me, after all, 
for having settled her in life ! n 

by Google 

Original from 

Some Historic Cradles. 

Bv Sheila E, Braine. 

CATTERED about here and 
there > in museums, castas, 
palaces, ami private houses, 
occasionally putting in a 
modest appearance at a loan 
exhibition, but living for the 
honourable seclusion, 



most part in 
certain quaint old memorials of bygone 
generations, of which, collectively, very little 
notice has hitherto been taken. Nevertheless, 
as being intimately connected with the 
earliest days of persons hereafter to become 
famous, they undoubtedly possess an interest 
of their own ; and although a cradle may be 
a homely object, it is seen alike in castle and 
cottage, nor does there ye em any near 
probability of its going out of fashion. 

To the crude masculine eye all babies are 
said to look the same—a sentiment a mother 
invariably treats with the scorn it deserves ; 
but, leaving that vexed point untouched, 
there can be no denying the fact that 
considerable diversity prevails with respect to 
the cribs, cots, and cradles that shield the 
slumbers of the blessed little beings. 

Roughly shaped out of the trunk of a tree, 
or carved with the best skill of a cunning 
workman ; stuffed with moss or lined w T ith 
embroidered pillows ; carried upon the back 
of a barbarian mot her > hung from the ceiling 
of a peasant's hut, rocked by a stately nurse 
in a Royal chamber : scarcely one of them 
resembles another. And yet a certain touch 
of Nature renders them all akin. For 
humanity begins with the cradle, even as it 
ends with the grave ; at these two fixed un- 
wavering points we units touch each other, 
while between them lies the brief uncertainty 
of this our little life. 

The cradles of the Greeks and Romans 
were of various shapes ■ the infant Hermes 
is represented in one formed like a shoe 
They were occasionally made of basketwork, 
sometimes with handles ; and could be sus- 
pended by ropes, Infants were rocked and 
sung to sleep by their nurses, and had their 
rattles, even as modern babies. 

The word cradle is Anglo-Saxon ; in Anglo- 
Norman it was hers, or hersel, from which is 
derived the modern French herfeau. Walter 
de Bibblesworth, writing towards the close 
of the thirteenth century, says: "As soon 
as the child is born it must be swathed ; lay 

it to sleep in its cradle, and you must have a 
nurse to rock it to sleep/' 

In the seventh century we find an Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury 7 ordaining that a woman 
who left her baby " lying loosely around M on 
the hearth, so that it got scalded to death 
through the caldron boiling over, was to do 
penance for her negligence. The curious 
part of it was that the husband, who put the 
water into the caldron, was acquitted of all 
blame; the idea being, we must suppose, 
that he could not be expected to know that 
the rolled-up bundle on the hearth was a 
member of his family. It would seem from 
this that cradles were not in everyday use at 
this date; and that infants were brought up 
in sweet simplicity on the floor. 

M- Viol!et-leT)uc tells us that the simplest 
and most ancient cradles were formed out of 
part of the trunk of a tree hollowed out, 
with holes at the side? through which cords 
were passed to keep the child in. Baskets 
were also used^ and later on the cradles 
resembled small beds fixed upon two curved 
pieces of wood. 

In the fifteenth century a change was 
made, and the cradle, usually shaped like a 
box, swung between two uprights, which 
were fixed. The cradle of Henry V. 3 which 


nust be swathed : L 

belongs to the latter part of the fourteenth 
century } is of this kind, and is the earliest 
specimen extant Some writers call it Edward 
IL's, but there are no proofs of its having 
belonged to that unlucky Prince, The story 
runs that Henry V,, born at Monmouth Castle 
in 1 38S, being a delicate child, was sent to 
Courtfield, about seven miles distant, to be 





nursed, for the benefit of his health. Here 
the cradle of the future warrior King was 
preserved for many years, eventually being 
sold by a steward of the property; who should 
have been prosecuted for it, one would 
imagine ; but apparently went to his grave in 


peace. The cradle passed at different times 
into the possession of various individuals ■ 
and is now exhibited to tourists as a relic 
of undoubted historic interest It is 3ft- 
2in, long, 1 ft Sin. wide at the head, 
rather less at the foot; ift- sin. deep; 
the foliage corroborates the date* 

The cradle or crib of Harry of Windsor, 
son of the Monmouth Harry, preserved 

in the Ashniolean Museum, at Oxford, is ot 
ironwork, and of an entirely different 
character. The attendant at the museum, 
questioned upon the subject, informed us 
with candour that for a long time they knew 
not whose it was, nor where it hailed from ; 
and we gathered that it had at length turned 
up u promiscuous-like " in a catalogue of the 
seventeenth century. A former attendant 
took it into his head to give it a coat of 
paint, for what reason we do not undertake to 
say, unless it was to while away a tedious 
hour, It is evident that the cradle formerly 
possessed a head, and there are indications 
of gilding about it 

The names of many of the Royal nurses 
are to be found in ancient accounts. 
Edward II, gave twenty shillings to Mary of 
Carnarvon for fi coming all the way from 
Wales to see him " ; Henry V. settled an 
annuity of twenty pounds upon Joan 
Waryn ; Henry IV, had an Irish nurse, 
Edward IV. a French one. The longed-for 
son and heir of bluff King Hal was nursed by 
Sibil la Penne, the wife of the Court barber- 
surgeon. Mistress Penne did rather well for 
herself, for she obtained the grant of both a 
monastery and a manor. We find that the 



Vol. viih— sa, 

tfKMKT VI. 3 CK-MJlK, 

id by OOOglC 


Princess Mary gave her for a New 
Year's gift five yards of yellow satin 
at 7s. 6d„ the yard. My Lord Prince 
had four rockers in addition to his 
nurse ; his food was tasted for fear 
of poison, and no one was permitted 
to approach his cradle without an 
order signed by the King. Small 
scions of Royalty usually had from 
two to five attendants, known as 
" rockers," who were duly sworn 
into office by the Lord Chamber- 
lain. James L had five, all Scotch, 
na.melv, Ladv Kippenross, Jane 




Qliphantj jane Crummy, Katherine Murray, 
and Christian Stewart, 

The heavy cradle ol carved oak, used for 
the high and mighty Prince who was to unite 
the Thistle and the Rose, is now in the 
possession of the Earl of Mar and Kellie, 
It was to be seen at the Glasgow Exhibition 
of 1888] as was also the carved oak cradle 
of Mary Queen of Scots, distinguished by its 


Royal crown, Few people, apparently, are 
aware of the existence of this relic of the 
most fascinating woman of her century. It 
was saved from the tire that broke out in 
Linlithgow Palace, January, 1746; and at 
the present time is at Edinburgh, in the 
possession of a gentleman who kindly 
allowed the arnexed sketch of it to be made. 
To the same category belongs the beautiful 

caned cradle of Queen Elizabeth, with which 
every visitor to Hatfield House must be 
familiar* The initials, " A. R,,' 1 stand for 
i; Anna Regina/" the* ill-fated Anne Boleyn, 
mother of Elizabeth, These cradles all par- 
take of the characteristics of the period, 
for the furniture of the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries — influenced by the 
Flemish refugees who fiocked to England 
with their handicrafts — is handsome, massive, 
and more or less capable of defying the 
ruthless touch of old Father Time. The 
beds of those days were like huge tents; 
surmounted by heavy canopies and shrouded 
with voluminous curtains, warranted to secure 
the night-capped sleeper from every breath 
of air. 

The quaint cradle-tomb in Westminster 
Abbey has a canopy, and was probably 
designed in imitation of the cradles in use at 
the beginning of the seventeenth century ; it 
has the Royal arms in a lozenge upon the back* 
In 1606, when the workmen were engaged in 
erecting Queen Elizabeths monument, a tiny 
corpse was brought by barge from the palace 
at Greenwich, and buried close to the spot 
where they were working. It was the 
Princess Sophia, fourth daughter of James L, 




who only lived three days, and whose 
name is rescued from oblivion by the 
curious monument which marks her 

Next we have a drawing of the oaken 
cradle belonging to the brave but un- 
fortunate Charles Neville, of Brancepcth 
Castle, last Earl of Westmorland This 
nobleman, being concerned in 1570 in 
an insurrection against Elizabeth, was 




attainted, and fled beyond the seas, where he 
died in great poverty. Upon the cradle, in 
circles on a red ground, are the bull's head 
and the lion rampant, the crests of the Neville 
and Mowbray families ; the white rose de- 

Radcliffe, Earl of Derwent water. This unique 
specimen has been lent to the South Ken- 
sington Museum by R. IX Radcliffe, Esq., 

Ancient inventories furnish us with 
occasional glimpses of the stately 
cradles provided for Royal infants, 
who, " bom in the purple," were put 
to sleep amid the glories of "yalowe 
clothe of gold/' crimson velvet lined 
with green buckram, red and blue 
sarcenet curtains, and so forth. At the 


notes the attachment of the Nevilles 
to the House of York. 

Speaking of earls' cradles, we have 
here two other specimens, one of which 
is the oaken " berceau" which stands 
in the magnificent State bedroom at 
Haddon Hall, and which is declared 
by tradition and the guide-books to 
have protected the infant slumbers of 
the first Earl of Rutland. 

The second is an exceptionally fine 
cradle of carved oak of the seven- 
teenth century, surmounted by a 
coronet, and bearing the initials 
" E. R,, n which stand for Edward 

CfiADLE uk Tin-: j-AKi 

by Ooogle 


same time, a baby of importance usually had 
one cradle for use and another for ornament : 
one for private life, the other for receptions j 
hence the origin and reason of the numerous 
" berceaux de parade ** alluded to in Royal 
accounts. Many of these were veritable works 
of art, painted and decorated by the best 
artists of the time, and great store was 
naturally set by them. 

Among the jewels claimed from the Crown 
of England as having belonged to Isabel of 
France was "un bersel d'or," and likewise 
" un bersel d'argent bel et gracieux," The 
State cradle of a defunct Dauphin is men- 
tioned as having been placed in " guard and 
garrison " in the jewel chamber at the Louvre, 
carefully wrapped up in four ells of linen. 

When Beatrice of Moclena fled with her 
infant son, the Prince of Wales — afterwards 
known as the Old Pretender — to the 
hospitable shores of France, the baby's 
cradle was left behind ; and one was fetched 
for his use from the Trianon, which had, no 
doubt, served for the son of Louis XIV. It 




was covered with, satin, and ornamented with 
gold and silver 

Costly and sumptuous as they were, cradles 
came to be regarded as suitable offerings to be 
made to Royal ex- 
pectant mothers. 
Marie of Med ids 
received from the 
Grand Duchess of 
Florence a magni- 
ficent one, with the 
polite wish that it 
might soon be 
wanted for a u beau 
Dauphin de 
France " ; a richly 
jewelled and alto- 
gether splendid 
specimen was also 
sent from India by 
Warren Hastings as 
a present to Queen 

The City of Paris 
presented those 
\ised for the Comte 
de Paris and the 
late Prince Im- 
perial ; and also 
one of the three 
prepared for the 
longed-for son and 
heir of the Great Napoleon* It was a mag- 
nificent piece of work, in silver gilt, repre- 
senting a ship, the emblem of the capital and 
designed by the painter 
Prudhon. The mono- 
gram of the Emperor was 
engraved upon a shield 
at the top, surrounded by 
a wreath of ivy leaves and 
laurels ; a small figure of 
Glory upheld a crown, in 
the midst of which shone 
the star of Napoleon, 

gazed at by a young eagle with half- 
expanded wings placed at the foot The 
cradle was emblematic of the future glory of 
the unconscious King of Romt j , whose birth 



ay GoOgle 


excited a tumult of enthusiasm ; whose death 
passed well-nigh unnoticed. The star of the 
young Napoleon had no sooner risen than it 
was doomed to set : the heir of those bound- 
less hopes inherited nothing, and died 
a pensioner upon Austrian bounty. His 
magnificent cradle, weighing 5c wl, was 
presented by him to the Imperial Treasury 
at Vienna. 

Another belonging to him may be seen at 
the castle of Fontainebleau ; a third is in the 
14 Napoleon Room " at Madame Tussaud's. 
These superb cradles were on a par with 
the magnificent and costly beds of the 
a mien regime^ the firs de parade, upon which, 
gracefully reclining and elaborately arrayed, 
ladies were in the habit of receiving visitors, 
and even the whole Court, 

It was etiquette to make a profound 
reverence on passing the couch of a King 
or Queen ; possibly the cradle of an heir- 
apparent was saluted in the same way. It 
was not all joy to be born in the purple ; 
there were too many State regulations for a 
Royal baby's life to be a happy one. At 
certain hours he was to be fed, at certain 
hours he had to be rocked, no matter whether 





he were asleep or no ; he might yell himself 
hoarse, but no one might venture to take 
him up but the proper person. It was t as 
the chronicler, Barbier, feelingly remarked, 
" une vraie misire." 

We must not omit to notice the great tor- 
toise shell, exhibited tit Pau as the veritable 
cradle of Henri Quatre, in which his grand- 
father, old King Henri d'Albret, bore him to 
the font, after rubbing his lips with garlic to 
make him hardy. This historic shell has kid 
its vicissitudes. It would have been destroyed 
at the time of the French Revolution, whose 
agents spared neither the town of Pau nor 
its illustrious old castle, had it not been, 
with the connivance of the caretaker, secretly 
abstracted by a Royalist of good family, a 
certain Monsieur de Beauregard. Not until 
the year 18 14 was it considered safe to pro- 
duce the concealed treasure ; which was then, 
with much rejoicing, reinstated in the castle* 
It now reposes in all honour beneath the 
plumed helmet of the Huguenot monarch, 
its original occupant. 

A quaint old memorial of the 
Pilgrim Fathers is the cradle of the 
Fuller family. Dr. Samuel Fuller was 
one of the elders who sailed in the 
Mayflower i and was no less remark- 
able for his piety than for his skill 
in his profession. His wife was left 
behind, but followed her husband 
afterwards in the Anne, Dr. Fuller 
died in 1633. 

More than three centuries divide 
the German Emperors, Maximilian L 
and William L Alas for modern 
progress in the arts and crafts : it is 
but too clear that the monarch of the 
Middle Ages, who compiled his own curious 
biography, possessed the more artistic cradle 



of the two- A very similar one, a decided 
" thing of beauty," was unearthed by a 
traveller some years ago in a remote Alpine 
village. The symbolic "LH.S," is also to 
be seen at the head of the seventeenth 
century English crib, given in our next illus- 

An ancient cradle from Cairo, exhibited 
in the South Kensington Museum, is inlaid 
with mother-of-pearl, and is a veritable 
ber^eau dt luxe. For what olive-skinned 
morsel of humanity, Royal or otherwise, it 
was prepared we know not. 

In striking contrast is the roughly-made 
but comfortable cradle of the Hungarian 
peasant, in which the baby lies snugly corded, 
and which dn be easily rocked with the 





foot. By the way, there is a widespread 
superstition that it is a disastrous thing to 
rock an empty cradle; a new baby would 
speedily arrive to fill it. 

Before closing this article, a passing 
mention should be made of the ancient 
custam f still kept up, of presenting a silver 
cradle to the wife of a Mayor whose family 

receives aji addition during his year of office. 
The Times of July ist, 1799, has a notice of 
one about to be presented to the Lady 
Mayoress, which was to cost ,£500; and the 
Mayoress of Liverpool in 1848 was the 
recipient of a very handsome miniature 


"berceau* shaped like a Nautilus shell. 
Upon the base was inscribed : — 

Ye Spirit of Ye Legends. 

Gif Leverpooles good maier everre bee 
Made fatherre inne hys yere of maioraltee, 
Thenne s&l be gfiften bye ye town men ne free, 
Ane silverre cradle too hys fairs ladye. 


by Google 

Original from 

Bank of England Notes. 

By Gilbert Guerdon, 

|N the good old times, if the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer 
wanted to borrow money of 
the general public — as he 
often did — the only acknow- 
ledgment he gave was " a tally." 
These tallies were pieces of stick notched to 
express value, and then split in two, on£ half 
being given to the lender, the other retained 
by the officers of the Exchequer. It was the 
burning of an accumulation of these old 
tallies in the vaults of the House of Com- 
mons which set fire to and helped to burn 
down the Houses of Parliament in 1834. 

When bankers borrowed money they gave 
a M note" containing a promise to repay, and 
the earliest of these bank-notes were given 
for any amount which a customer liked 
to lend or deposit, and he could with- 
draw as much as he wished till the total 
had been received, and then the Bank 
claimed the note. Privileged visitors to 
the Bank of England are shown in a 
glazed frame the oldest known note, dated 
"19th Xber, 1699," for ^£555, and an 
inspection of it shows that the bank-notes 
at that period were printed from engraved 

plates, with blanks for the amount, date, 
number, and signature* In texture and 
general appearance they were similar to 
those at present in use, and the water-mark 
can be distinctly seen. Across the note are 
written memoranda showing repayment by 
three instalments. 

The signature at the foot of the note is 
that of the chief cashier. Fifty years ago 
there were different signatures, according to 
the values of the notes, but for many years 
there has been but one for all values, namely, 
that of the chief cashier, F. May, who has 
now retired. The signature is imprinted by 
authority of an Act of Parliament 

The new chief cashier is Mr, Horace G. 
Bowen, and all notes dated on and after 
16th November, 1893, are signed by him 
with a special autograph* All the notes with 
the old signature were issued before the 
new ones were put in circulation. 

Notes are cancelled by having the 
corner bearing the signature cut off. There 
are several sacks full of these corners 
in the Bank cellars, and they are periodically 
destroyed by burning. 

Amongst other curiosities in the Bank 

f&fr If: 


*&/9 day efP&r/fyfi 

, Geo? ana Ypmp^ 

amJbeP&rw la ^TU^ 


THE OLDEST BANKNOTE ItWOWtf.QrJ g j f\ £ | f fQ ITl 




Library is a note for ^£25, which had slum- 
bered unobserved for one hundred and eleven 
years and was then presented and paid. If 
compound interest had been payable by the 
Bank, the owner could have claimed over 

Another curiosity, believed to be unique, 
is a bank-note for ^£1,000,000, dated 1782. 
Tradition says that there have been but four 
such notes issued by the Bank. One is the 
note just referred to, Messrs. Rothschilds had 
one, Messrs. Coutts and Co. another, and 
Samuel Rogers, the poet, had the fourth, 
which, it is said, was framed and hung over 
his parlour mantelpiece. 

But perhaps the greatest curiosity is the 
note for ^1,000 representing the fine im- 
posed on Lord Cochrane for his, erroneously 
supposed, connection with a fraud for artifi- 
cially raising the price of the public funds. 
The note is indorsed as follows :— 

"My health having suffered by long and 
close confinement, and my oppressors having 
resolved to deprive me of property or life, I 
submit to Robbery, to protect myself from 
Murder, in the hope that I shall live to bring 
the delinquents to justice. 

" Grated Chamber, " Cochrane, 

"King's Bench Prison, 3 July, 1815." 

A singular use was made of a jQ$ note 
now in the Bank archives, which bears the 
following indorsement : — 

u If this note gets into the hands of John 
Dear, of Longhill, near Carlisle, his brother 
Andrew is a prisoner in Algiers." 

This notification was copied into a Carlisle 
newspaper, and John Dear thus became 
aware of the whereabouts of his long-lost 

If bank-notes could only speak, what 
romantic tales of joy and misery they could 

A visit to the Bank is extremely interesting, 
and some information recently gleaned re- 
lating to bank-notes is well worth recording, 

The component parts of a bank-note are the 
paper, the water-mark, the ink, the engraving, 
the printing, and the signature. Bank of 
England note-paper is made by Messrs. Portal^ 
at their mills in Hampshire, The tray on 
which the pulp is lifted is the size of a pair 
of notes, and measures 5m, by i6J^in. Thus 
there are, when issued, right-hand and left- 
hand notes, the inner side of each showing a 
clean cut edge, and the rest of the edges 
being rough, or as it is called " deckled, 1 ' 

The top right-hand corner of a right- 
hand note looks as if a piece of the paper 
had been' rubbed off, hut this is done pur- 
posely, to -enable the printer to know when 
the water-mark is Tight side up. The annual 
output is 14,000 reams. As recently as the 
year 1S62 some thieves broke into the mills 
and stole some of the prepared paper, and 
forged notes were soon in circulation ; but it 
was not long before the whole gang of 
forgers was caught, the paper recovered, and 
the thieves transported. 

The water-mark is so much an integral 
part of the note that it was specially protected 

by Google 


Original from 




by Act of Parliament in 1763, and any 
attempt to imitate it was made punishable 
with death — now the punishment is penal 

The ink was formerly made from the 
charred remains of the skins and stones of 
Rhenish grapes \ now it is made from naphtha 
smoke, and is remarkable for being absolutely 
black, hard, and dry. It is noticeable in old 
bank-notes that the printing in some is much 
darker than in others* This very objection- 
able lack of uniformity was due to the 
practice of printing two notes from one 
inking — the second impression being 
necessarily lighter than the first. Now, by a 
very simple but 
ingenious con- 
trivance, the 
inking rollers 
only take up 
just enough ink 
for one impres- 

All Bank of 
England notes 
are printed in 
the Bank, where 
there are six 
machines con- 
stantly at work. 
The notes are 
printed in pairs, 
and come off the 
machines pressed 
and dried, The 
number of notes 
printed is re- 
corded on dials 
at the side of 

VoL viil— 29, 

each machine, and, of course, 
corresponds with the numbers on 
the notes, as they are automatically 
delivered to the receiving clerk. It 
only remains for the twin notes to 
be cut asunder, and they are ready 
for issue. 

The stock of notes of various 
values, from ^£5 to ^1,000 each, 
is kept in iron safes in one large 
fireproof room, and the average 
value of the stock is from seventy 
to eighty million pounds. 

Nearly 50,000 notes of different 
values are paid into the Bank every 
day, and are immediately sorted, 
first into values, then into dates, 
and then into numbers; and as 
every note has a place of its own 
in the Bank registers* its return can 
be instantly recorded, and anything unusual 
relating to it is duly noted there. Forged 
notes are instinctively detected by the 
examining clerks. The feel is usually enough. 
There are very few forgeries now, but a 
hundred years ago they were rife. The first 
recorded instance of the forgery of a Bank 
of England note has a singular touch of 
romance about it. The forger was a linen- 
draper at Stafford, named Vaughan, who, in 
the year 1758, employed several workmen to 
engrave different parts of a j£zo note, and 
when a dozen had been printed off he 
deposited them with a young lady to whom 
he was engaged to be married as a proof of 

by Google 

rm owi 1 





his wealth ; but the imposition was discovered, 
and Vaughan was hanged 

"All is fair in love and war," says the 
proverb, but that would hardly excuse forgery, 
though used as "an instrument of war"; 
nevertheless, note forgeries were justified by 
the judges in the early part of the present 
century, and when the English found that 
the French had forged English bank-notes, 
they retaliated by forging French assignats. 
Anyhow, the number of forgeries was 
astounding, for between 1S01 and i8ro the 
Bank clerks detected ^ioi,65i worth of 
forged notes* 

One of the cleverest imitations of a bank- 
note was the work of a poor schoolmaster, 
who forged an entire note with pen and ink, 
and, sad to say, was hanged. 

John Mathieson, who was convicted for 
forging the water-mark, offered to show the 
Directors how it w T as done if he were pardoned, 
but they would not withdraw the prosecution. 

Singularly enough, forgeries first began to 
be frequent soon after the introduction of 
the one-pound note, and in April, 1802, Mr. 
Addington told the House of Commons that 
the forgeries had increased so alarmingly that 
seventy extra clerks were required at the Bank 
merely to detect them. 

In the; year 1817 the nominal value of the 
forged paper presented at the Bank of 
England was ^37,180, and the greater part of 
this large sum was in one-pound notes. Paper 
of higher value, which necessarily circulated 

Digitized by CjOOg I C 

under greater 
was less often 
A Parliamen- 
tary report 
showed that 
in the eight 
years previous 
to 1797 there 
was not one 
for forgery of 
but in the 
eight years 
folio wi ng 
there were 
146 capital 
In the year 
1817 alone 
there were 
thi rty-t w o 
for forgery, and ninety-five for possession of 
forged notes. These prosecutions excited a 
strong feeling in the public mind against the 
Bank Directors, which was increased when it 
was found that the sad sacrifice of human life 
did not lessen the forgeries* Parliament, the 
Society of Arts, the Bank Directors, and a 
host of philanthropists turned their attention 
to the task of discovering, if possible, a 
means for preventing forgeries of bank- 

The report made in 181 9 by the Royal 
Commissioners stated that 108 schemes had 
been submitted to them, but that every one 
of the specimen notes had been successfully 
imitated by the Bank engravers, and all the 
schemes were therefore condemned as useless. 
There were also submitted seventy varieties 
of bank-note paper, but only a few of the 
proposed improvements turned out to be 
practically useful. 

The typographic note was a wonderful 
piece of ingenious industry, comprising as it 
did over 6,000 letters of diamond type. 
But the counterfeiting of it was, after all, 
only a question of money, and the so-called 
"private marks" were but typographical 
blunders purposely made, which would soon 
have been discovered, and, being known and 
imitated, would then have further facilitated 
deception* At the time that it was set up, in 
1819, Mr. Hansard, the printer, estimated 
that, with specially made new founts of type, 
the first note would have cost more than 






catTre Sato pinifjfljtf wity ©eatlj tfjt garner. 



| s — — ,-... 

1* I 

rfll liii 






I 1 





tt»r : ! 

3 ft 

{«»«,...• "I* g>es 





rip .1 



QmP 1 





*■/■ ##Ar##Af * r* *■#■ ***+***rr #w* 

5 EH 

5 I. 


*^#-*> ***** m* **>***++ ^^^ j* ^ # *rr+ * 

M-r***^ ************ ** ******* 

F-" |J?« IIP 

•flucyif ft 'aaoaf qaff-tatf * filUHUR 3fl^ 

r*-******^** ***■*■* 

BnrimfllTrom 1 ~ 3- 




,£15,000, and would have taken twelve 
months to complete. 

The caricature bank-note by George Cruik- 
shank t called " The Bank Restriction Note," 
speaks for itself It was considered to be a 
very keen satire, and it no doubt helped in a 
small degree to put a stop to hanging for 
note forging. 

Country one-pound notes were not so fre- 
quently forged, partly because they were 
usually more artistic in design, and therefore 
more difficult to counterfeit; and partly from 
their having imprinted on the back the 
revenue stamp in red and black, which 
was not easily imitated. This tax was first 
imposed in 1800, and was then only two* 
pence, but it was increased to threepence in 
1S05, to fourpence in 1808, and to fivepence 
in 18 1 5. There is still a tax on Scotch and 
Irish bank-notes, but, being compounded for, 
the stamp is not impressed, 

But though the Bank lost considerably 
through forgeries^ they recouped themselves 
in a great measure by the profit accruing 
on lost or accidentally destroyed notes. One 
of the earliest cases which raised the ques- 
tion of the liability of the Bank was that of 
a note which had been eaten by a goat 
Thieves, to avoid detection, have often 
eaten bank-notes, drunken sailors have 
made sandwiches of them, many are lost 
by flood and fire, and all to the profit of 
the Bank. The Directors, however, are 

always ready to pay on good evidence of 
accidental destruction. 

There are to be seen at the Bank the 
remains of a ^50 note burned in the big fire 
at Chicago. The date and number and 
amount can be traced on the cinder, and that 
was sufficient for the Bank, A somewhat 
similar case is that of the Irishman who hid 
some bank-notes in a box in his back garden, 
hut forgetting the spot, failed to find them 
for some months, and then when found 
they were so dilapidated with damp that 
they had no appearance of bank-notes. The 
Bank clerks, however, took the remains and 
deciphered enough printing to enable them 
to give Pat an equivalent value in new 

A mutilated note is paid if the owner 
gives an indemnity, but if the smallest part 
be missing an indemnity is always required. 

The well-known case of Gillet v. the Bank 
of England demonstrates the risk of carrying 
bank-notes loose in the pocket, The Bank 
offered to pay the ^1,000 claimed, if the 
applicants would give a proper indemnity, 
in case it should turn out that the note had 
been stolen and not destroyed, but there 
was too much uncertainty about the dis- 
appearance of the note to justify anyone 
risking an indemnity. 

All mutilated notes, and notes for which 
indemnities have been taken, are per- 
manently preserved ; all other notes are 

^Bank of England. 





kept five years in the Bank cellars, 
and then destroyed by burning* In 
1 88 1 1 when the last return was made, 
the stock of paid notes for five years 
was about 77,745,000 in number, and 
they filled 13,400 boxes, which, if 
placed side by side, would reach 2^ 
miles ; if the notes were placed in 
a pile, they would reach to a height of 
5^i miles ; or, if joined end to 
end, would form a ribbon 12,455 
miles long; .their superficial extent 
is rather less than that of Hyde 
Park ; their original value was over 
j£t , 750,636,600, and their weight 
over 90^5 tons. 

The boxes are all admirably ar- 
ranged so that any note which is 
stored In the catacombs can be found 
in a few minutes, 

In these vaults are also stored the 
registers of the birth, death, and 
burial of every note. 

The first English bank-notes of 
less value than five pounds were 
issued by authority of a short Act of 
Parliament, which had been hastily 
prepared during a financial crisis, and 
was passed on the 3rd of March, 
1 797, to meet the pressing emergencies 
of the moment The earliest of the 
notes were dated a day before the 
was passed, and it was made retrospective 
in its operation so as to include them. 

It is now penal to imitate a Bank of Eng- 
land note, even in the most innocent way. 
For example, it has been decided in an action 
at law that it is unlawful to copy, even in the 
large mural advertisements, the peculiar en- 
graving of Old English letters in white upon a 
black ground, which is found on all Bank „ of 
England notes. The notes may not be pho- 
tographed, and microscopic slides, and the 
well-known miniature toy lenses containing 
facsimile notes of the size of a pin's head, 
have been confiscated by the Bank authori- 
ties, and the vendors prosecuted. "The 
Bank of Elegance " notes, at one time so 
useful to the swell mobsmen, and many 
similar productions, have all been very pro- 
perly suppressed. 

As to the question of durability, it was 
estimated that one-pound notes were worn 
out in three years, Now, a sovereign lasts 
about nineteen years, and is then worth 



within a fraction of twenty shillings, A 
bank-note costs about threepence, which 
would be a heavy charge on a paper pound 
if only issued once, The proposal of Sir 
Henry Bessemer to issue twenty shilling 
tokens made of aluminium is not likely to 
commend itself to any Chancellor of the 
Exchequer, and, besides, it would not be 

On the score of portability, of course 
notes are much preferable to coin, as about 
390 of them weigh only lib. We have 
before now heard of a young lady who was 
gh worth her weight in gold," but it has 
probably only happened once that two sisters 
were actually worth their weight in paper 
pounds. A record of eccentric wills, how- 
ever, tells us that a testator left his two 
daughters the money equivalent of their 
weight in one-pound notes. The elder, 
whose weight was gst. 2 lb., claimed ,£51,200, 
and the younger, who weighed a stone heavier, 
had for her dot j£s7i3oo* Notes were then 
a trifle heavier than those now in circula- 
tion, about 400 of them weighing ilb. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 



THE British workman who insists 

a days upon the limit of an eight hours' 

work, day might usefully meditate on 

the particulars and extent of a 
day's work of one of Her Majesty's Ministers 
when the House of Commons is in Session. 
He appears in his place — and in the Par- 
liamentary reports — at half-past three in the 
afternoon, when public business commences. 
He will have an average of a dozen questions 
to reply to, each involving more or less 
research and consideration. Afterwards he 
may take a leading part in debate on the 
question of the hour. In these days, happily, 
business of the House of Commons occa- 
sionally terminates on the stroke of mid- 
night. But at best there is necessitated close 
attendance for eight hours and a half upon 
work of the most exigent character, carried 
on in the fierce light that beats on the 
Treasury Bench. 

Yet the actual House of Commons work 
is merely the supplement of what has 
already amounted to far more than an ordi- 
nary day's work. The other day a Minister 
casually mentioned to me, rather with an 
air of satisfaction than of complaint, how 
he had spent the last twenty-four hours. 
After breakfast, following upon a late sitting 
of the House (the twelve o'clock rule having 
been suspended), he went to his office 
and spent a couple of hours in transacting 
the business of one of the most important 
departments of the State. Thence he pro- 
ceeded to a Committee-room of the House 
of Commons, where, at noon, he took the 
chair, and conducted the cross-examination 
of three experts giving evidence upon an 
intricate case of inquiry remitted to a Select 
Committee. At half-past three he was on the 
Treasury Bench and answered eleven ques- 
tions, not to count others " arising out of the 
answer just made." As soon as questions 
were over, he moved the second reading of 
one of the principal measures of the Govern- 
ment programme, explaining a scheme of 

Digitized by Gt 

infinite detail affecting national interests and 
bristling with controversial points. There- 
after, till midnight approached, he sat atten- 
tively listening to and noting a long 
succession of speeches offering criticisms on 
the measure. At twenty minutes past eleven 
he rose and replied on the whole debate, 
concluding his speech in time to suffer 
the disappointment of seeing the debate 

This is pretty rough on a man. 
" in prison But perhaps the hardest thing 

often." to bear is the necessity imposed 
upon a Minister of dining at the 
House of Commons every night the House 
is in Session. Not for him the bright social 
feasts which make merry the London season. 
More especially at the present epoch, when 
parties are evenly balanced, the duty of being 
present for every division weighs with more 
than usual heaviness on a Minister. 

Even in times of less strenuous strife it is 
considered bad form for a Minister to show 
himself in the House of Commons in dinner 
dress. Oddly enough, variation to this rule 
was in recent years made by Mr. Gladstone, 
who during the last few Sessions of active 
Parliamentary life was a habitual diner-out. 
Even when the Home Rule Bill of last 
Session was in Committee, he would leave 
the House just before eight o'clock, dress 
with the rapidity of what in theatrical par- 
lance is known as a quick change artist, 
dine out, and be back again soon after 
ten o'clock, ready, if necessity called (and 
sometimes when it didn't), to make a big 

It was only an octogenarian of 

mr. Mr. Gladstone's vitality that 

disraeli. could thus burn the candle at 

both ends. I knew Mr. Disraeli 

in the House of Commons through the 

last years of his Premiership, and do not 

recall a single occasion when he appeared in 

evening dress. He did not habitually dine 

in the House, but went off at regular hours, and 





after a moderate interval returned, to remain 
at his post till the principal order of the day 
was disposed of t an event which, in his time, 
was not accomplished on the stroke of 
midnight But he was 
always in morning dress, 
and none of his col- 
leagues ventured to vary 
the fanhion on the 
Treasury Bench, 

In the Parliaments 
following the General 
Election of 1886 Mr, 
Gladstone became a 
regular diner-out. 
Through the Parliament 
of 1880-85 he di ne d 
at home, in morning 
dress, and used to 
astonish the House with 
the brevity of the time 
he found sufficient to 
drive to Downing Street, 
swallow his dinner, and 
be back on the Treasury 
Bench. The present 
Leader of the House 
of Commons dines 
regularly in the House, 
in which respect he 
resembles the late Mr. W. H, Smith, Mr* 
Smith dined every night in his own room, 
covers being laid for four or six, according 
to invitations issued to his colleagues, or to 
occasional guests from the back Ministerial 

The Speaker is within measur- 

s > able distance of his own dining- 

u chop " toble. But his opportunities for 

enjoying an evening meal are 
strictly and sorely limited. Half an hour is 
the period during which proceedings in the 
House of Commons are suspended so that 
the Speaker may take what is known as " his 

That the meal should be thus designated 
is a practice of long standing. It certainly 
goes back as far as the time of Fergus 
O'Connor, who was member for Cork from 
1832 to 1835, sitting for Nottingham from 
1847 to 1852* Towards the close of his 
career Mr O'Connor displayed signs of 
eccentricity that filled his friends with con- 
cern, According to an old House of Com- 
mons' tradition, which it would be difficult 
to trace to a reliable source, the Chartist 
leader was left unrestrained, till one day, so 
the story runs, "he went behind the chair 
and ate the Speaker's chop," 


There is a looseness of reference to 
locality which throws doubt on this recorcL 
It seems to imply that the Speaker's even- 
ing meal was spread on a table at the 
back of the chair j that 
the member for Not- 
tingham accidentally 
passing by, attracted by 
a savour)- smell, lifted 
the cover from the dish, 
and, finding a chop 
there, straightway sat 
down and ate it Forty 
years ago, as now, the 
Speaker had his resi- 
dence within the pre- 
cincts of Westminster, 
and would take his 
chop in his own dining- 
room, where no stray 
members of Parliament 
of tottering intellect 
would be admitted, I 
mention the story only 
as showing that the 
tradition which particu- 
larizes the Speaker's 
evening meal as a chop 
is of respectable an- 
Whilst Ministers who have their 
private rooms may and often do 
have their dinners sent in from 
the common kitchen, it is more 
usual to use one of the dining-rooms, 
where a table is reserved. Private members 
may secure tables, or places at tables^ 
by giving due notice* There is a room 
known as the Terrace-room that may be 
engaged by members for dinners of 
which strangers may partake, and where, 




•'OiwknaWiiamMT 1 






after dinner, smoking is permitted. It is in 
great request through the season, and that 
accommodation should be limited to its 
use is one of the curiosities of Parliamentary 
social life. There is another and larger room 
where members may entertain ladies at 
dinner. But the whole accommodation to 
meet the stern necessity of dining in the 
House of Commons is lamentably inadequate. 
Up to a period dating back 
some ten years the commis- 
sariat of the House of Com- 
mons was in the hands of an 
outside purveyor. He retired, it is said, 
with a considerable fortune. Whereupon it 
was decided that members should undertake 
the direction of their kitchen affairs on the 
principle of club management A Kitchen 
Committee was formed, and 
is appointed every Session, 
with others of far less import- 
ance. Up to the present time 
the Committee has not been 
more fortunate than was the 
professional purveyor in real- 
izing the ideal of the ordinary 
member of a decent dinner 
at a fair price. This is 
certainly not due to the fact 
that they are making a large 
profit out of the undertaking. 
On the contrary, were it not 
for a subsidy of a thousand 
a year forthcoming from the 
public purse, the balance- 
sheet of the commissariat 
department of the House of 
Commons would last year 
have been on the wrong side 
by the sum of ^993 5s. yd. 

It would seem at first sight 
that the contract for feeding 
the House of Commons is a sure way to 
wealth. The advantages pertaining to the 
undertaking are extensive and peculiar* There 
is no rent to pay ; gas and firing are free ; 
glass, crockery, knives and forks and table- 
linen are thrown in. Finally there is the 
subsidy of ^1,000 a year — all this in addi- 
tion to the monopoly of feeding for six or 
seven months in the year 670 gentlemen. 

The difficulty arises from the uncertainty 
attending sittings of the House- The cooks 
may prepare broth, with things to follow, for 
two or three hundred legislators. The House 
may forthwith be counted out> and not half-a- 
dozen remain for dinner. On the other hand, 
as happened last Session, the House may 
unexpectedly sit all night, and the larder 

Digitized by Vj< 



may be picked absolutely clean before one 
o'clock in the morning. These are extreme 
cases ; but they are conditions that must be 
met, and are faced according to existing 
arrangements by what would appear to be 
absolutely the worst device. The condi- 
tions of the House of Commons are pre- 
cisely those which test most severely the 
resources of a private and exclusive com- 
missariat department. They are, moreover, 
exactly those that would be best controlled 
by an independent outside organization 
which, at touch with the hungry public at 
various points, would never be embarrassed 
by having suddenly and unexpectedly 
thrown on its hands material for dinner 
not wanted by the House of Commons on 
a particular night, 

A gentleman 
closely connected 

with the Kitchen 

failure. ^ ■ ..,, 

Committee told 

me with tears in his eyes that 
the Irish members are at the 
root of the undoubted failure 
of the House of Commons* 

"An Irish member," he 
said, "will insist when he 
is helped to chicken upon 
having the wing served to 
him — by choice, the liver- 
wing. Now, there are a 
hundred and three Irish 
members, eighty of whom 
pretty regularly dine in the 
House when they are in atten- 
dance on their Parliamentary 
duties, When you come to 
serving out eighty chicken 
wings, you will see that what 
is left for the mere British is 
of a monotonously inferior description, sure 
to lead to heart-burning and reproaches. 
Toujour* drumstick unhinges a man's mind, 
and leads to a state of things in which com- 
plaint is common and dissatisfaction rife/' 

There may be something in this. Obviously 
it does not cover the whole ground of dis- 
satisfaction with House of Commons' dinners. 
This Session the Kitchen Com- 
J mittee, pertinaciously pursued by 

Mr. Alpheus Cleophas Morton, 
coyly put forward a balance- 
sheet setting forth their expendi- 
ture and receipts. This shows that there was 
taken over the counter a sum exceeding 
j£i 7,000, That would be above the average 
of ordinary Sessions, since the accounts are 





those of the year 1893, when there was a 
winter Session. 

The sales are somewhat arbitrarily grouped, 
"cigars and provisions" being bracketed as 
realizing ;£i 0,498, whilst "wines, spirits, 
mineral waters, etc.," bring hi ^6,519. What 
the "etc." may stand for remains a matter 
for conjecture. Presumably it has something 
to do with cheese, for on the other side of 
the ledger there is a sum of ^983 paid for 
" cheese, etc." 

The largest item in the kitchen account 
is for wines and spirits, which tot up to the 
precise sum of ^3,985 ns. ud. This, 
with an addition of ^532 for beer and ^422 
for mineral waters, shows that the House of 
Commons is a pretty thirsty place. A stock 
of cigars to the tune of ^567 was laid in. 
The butcher's bill is a trifle over ^3,000. 
Fish stands at ^941 ; poultry and game at 
j£j6i. within 40s. of the amount spent for 
vegetables. Bread and biscuits cost ^360, 
and groceries ^628. This last item is 
concerned with those tea-parties on the 
terrace, which through the summer of last 
year formed one of the most popular features 
of a brilliant season. Wages and manage- 
ment sum up to- close upon ^4,000, and 
last of all in the ledger comes the modest 
line: "Net profit, £6 14s. 5&" 

This profit, as has been shown, would have 
been swallowed up and a dire deficit sub- 
stituted but for the ^1,000 which the House 
in its own relief votes from the national 

This is not, as it stands, a parti- 
the moral cularly flourishing balance-sheet. 

of it. It would be interesting to have a 
few remarks upon it from an 
expert engaged in one of the big hotels or 
large clubs. It would not greatly matter if 
the result were satisfactory, and the House 
of Commons' dinner were in any reason- 
able degree delectable. That such is not 
the case is a fact painfully notorious. In 
debate on the subject which took place in 
June, not a single good word was said for 
cook or Committee. Mr. Chamberlain, 
speaking elsewhere about the same time, 
humorously contemplating the prospect 
of prison fare, said he could face it 
with equanimity, since he was accustomed 
to dine in the House of Commons. The 
gibe is cruel, but not nearly so cruel as 
the fate imposed upon Ministers and other 
members compelled or accustomed to dine 
regularly at the House. It is hard and 
unjust upon the Committee who devote much 
time and thought to the business, getting, by 

Vol viii.-30. 

way of recompense, kicks unrelieved by 
the gleam of halfpence. That they know 
nothing about the business, have neither 
natural aptitude nor experience gained else- 
where, is not their fault What is wrong 
with the business is that it is entirely bad, 
founded upon a system hopelessly unapplic- 
able to the situation. 

It seems a bitter satire on sufficiency that 
the House of Commons can supervise the 
affairs of the univerce and cannot serve itself 
with a comfortable dinner at a moderate 





The temporary withdrawal of 
Colonel Saunderson from the 
political arena has done some- 
thing to eclipse the gaiety of the 
House of Commons. At this present time 
of writing, the Colonel, who last Session was 
usually in front of the fight, whether with 
tongue or fists, has made but a solitary 
appearance. Thgrt was in the earliest days 
cf the Session, when the Address was still 
under consideration. Mr. Labouchere having 
carried an amendment wjiich the Govern- 
ment could not accept, it became necessary 
to begin all over again. A fresh Address 
was brought in. Sir William Harcourt had 
risen to move it Mr. John Morley, with 
nothing more striking in his dress than the 
familiar red necktie tied in sailor's knot, was 
waiting to second it, when Colonel Saunder- 
son interposed, and gravely suggested that 
the House should adjourn, so as to give 
opportunity to the Chancellor of the Exche- 
quer to retire to his room, and before he 
moved the Address " array himself in uniform 
suitable to his rank." 

Having fired this shot, the Colonel dis- 
appeared from the field in which he was 
wont to fill a prominent part, and everyone 
will be sorry to know that the limitation of 
his public duties is occasioned by failing 

Whilst the Colonel was still in 

a new constant residence in his house 

outrage, in Sloane Street, he was the 

victim of an outrage sufficient 

to shatter nerves of less tempered steel. 

One morning during the height of the 

controversy round the Home Rule Bill, he 

was seated in his study preparing a few 

impromptus to brighten up a speech against 

Mr. Gladstone's Bill. Raising his eyes from 

the manuscript in pursuit of an idea, they 

fell upon a snake stealthily making its way 

across the floor in the direction of the 

statesman's chair. The Colonel is not to be 

trifled gftfoffmf DP ffilftfaAff* was on his 



feet in a moment, and after 
brief exertion the snake 
stretched its long length, 
dead on the floor. 

This incursion seemed a 
development of Home Rule 
cendencies passing all bounds. 
It was enough to have un- 
happy Ireland scared by 
dynamite explosions, shocked 
by the houghing of cattle, 
and the slaughtering of suc- 
cessors on homesteads of 
evicted tenants. But that a 
prominent member of a party 
opposed to Nationalist feel- 
ing should have the study of 
his London house infested 
with deadly reptiles seemed 
to be going too far. 

Colonel Saunderson is a 
practical man. He lamented 
this fresh development of 
internecine animosity. But 
he put the snake in a bottle 
of spirits, and placed it on a shelf to await 
further development of the mystery. 

This was not long coming, being brought 
about in a manner equal to the dramatic 
discovery of the direful snake. Dining one 
evening in Stratton Street, Colonel Saunder- 
son told this latest, and abnormally true, 
snake story. Amongst the guests at table 
was a popular actor accustomed to thrill 
London audiences in various dark disguises 
and multiform desperate situations. Never 
in his most inspired moments had his voice 
possessed such blood-curdling thrill, or his 
gestures more command, than now when he 
smote the table and cried aloud : — 

" Why, that's my snake ! " 



Explanations were forthcoming that estab- 
lished the fact. The Colonel and the actor 
are neighbours in the same street, divided by 

a house and a long strip of 
garden. Amongst the cher- 
ished members of the family 
circle in the actor's home 
was a spotted snake. One 
day it disappeared, the most 
persistent and passionate in- 
quiries failing to discover its 
place of retirement Now 
the whole secret was out. 
The snake had climbed the 
wall, crossed the intervening 
garden, made another ascent, 
dropped into Colonel Saun- 
derson's garden, and, finding 
the study window open, had 
made itself at home in new 

righteous f esh comphca- 

nrnrp » tl0n * T ° wh ° m 
JUDGE. dJd ^ body of 

the defunct snake belong? 

The actor claimed it as his ; 

Colonel Saunderson insisted 

that the laws of sport gave it to him. He 

had hunted it, slain it, and, moreover, put it 

in pickle. 

Fortunately there was present at the 
dinner-table a judge whose opinion deservedly 
carries supreme weight. Appealed to to 
decide, he delivered an interesting and 
important judgment Suppose, he said in 
effect, the reptile had been of the rattlesnake 
breed, or even a trigonocephalus tisiphone, it 
would, coming within the category of a wild 
animal, have been the property of the man 
who killed it It was apparently a coluber 
constrictor, naturally harmless, and, according 
to the evidence, tame. Therefore it was the 
property of its original owner, and must be 
returned to him. But— and it was here Lord 
Eshei^s famed subtlety in regard to the 
niceties of crowner's quest law came in — the 
spirits in which the snake had been preserved 
belonged to Colonel Saunderson, and no 
portion of them, even though absorbed in 
the skin of the reptile, might be abstracted and 
retained by the rightful owner of the snake. 

There the matter was left, and there it 
rests, as does the body of the snake in the 
bottle of brandy. 

In the matter of official or 
Ministerial spectacles London 
lags behind some of the other 
capitals of Europe. There is, 
however, one occasion when 
this sort of thing is done as well in London 





as \% m 


sed ^TH e dPtoid^ hedaysofthe 



llili CASE, 

Empire, and \% to-day in Berlin or St. Peters- 
burg, It is the reception given at the 
Foreign Office on the Queen's birthday. 

All the circumstances and surroundings 
contribute to success. The Foreign Office 
is one of the few public buildings suitable 
for the gathering. Its spacious staircase, not 
too far-reaching nor steep of access, serves 
as a conduit through which the brilliant 
stream passes on the way to spread itself out 
in the spacious reception-room. For more 
than an hour the staircase is the centre of 
attraction. Guests make a point of going early, 
so that they may obtain favourable positions 
on the landing to look over, and watch the 
crowd slowly struggling upwards. Here may 
be seen nearly all Britons famous in Politics, 
Literature, Science, and 
Art Later, when the 
theatres are closed, 
comes on the Drama. 

The faces are familiar 
enough, but the apparel 
is often rare. It is the 
custom on the Queen's 
birthday for some of 
the principal Cabinet 
Ministers to entertain 
their colleagues and 
others at full-dress din- 
ners. After dinner all 
ways lead to Downing 
Street, converging on 
the staircase of the 
Foreign Office, Apart 
from the Ministerial din- 
ners, every man who 
owns a uniform of any 



kind or a Court suit puts it on- Ribbons of 
all the Orders known to European Courts lend 
added colour to the scene. Stars and Orders 
flash on manly breasts. Every State in 
the world is represented by its Minister, in 
uniform or, in the case of the emissary of 
the Emperor of China, in national dress. 
Amid the crowd of bared heads Rustem 
Pasha wears his fez, and on this years 
Birthday Count de Staal invested Rmsia 
with more than usual distinction by wearing 
a pair of ivory coloured pantaloons — " mystic, 
white samite," 

It is on occasion like this that 
one feels what a blow was dealt 
at the not too lavish decoration 
of London by the pressure of 
economic considerations which led to the 
withdrawal of the Greek Minister, At 
Foreign Office parties, M. Gennadius, the 
exceedingly clever diplomatist who long re- 
presented the King of Greece at the Court 
of St. James's, was a thing of beauty and re- 
mains a joy for ever, Solomon in all hta 
^lory was not arrayed like the Creek Minister. 
Cloth of gold was the material out of which 
his cunningly-constructed raiment was de- 
vised. There was, perhaps, more gold than 
cloth. As far as peeps were permitted of 
the material beneath the heavy braid of gold, 
the coat was blue, the trousers white. By 
his side dangled a heavily jewelled scimitar. 
Essentially a man of peace, M. Gennadius, 
with the instinct of a diplomatist, seized the 
opportunity of showing what G recce would 
look like if, owing to difficulties on the 
currant import duty or other vexed question, 
it was compelled to go to war. 

In the ab- 
sence of this 
figure, the 
Diplomatic circle this 
year supplied another 
striking personality of 
quite a different style. 
His round, full face was 
black as night His 
head was covered with 
material which, in the 
case of Uncle Ned 
before he laid down the 
shovel and the hoe, was 
shortly described as 
11 wool/' He wore a uni- 
form that was a happy 
compromise between 
llfhengarb of a general, 

UNIVERSITY OF=WI€*ffiSwN and * band " 




master. A lady inquiring of a young but 
highly esteemed personage at the Foreign 
Office who the stranger was, was told it was 
"Mr. Johnson of the Christy Minstrels." 

This flippancy received apparent confirma- 
tion from a cheerful habit indulged in by the 
foreign guest of audibly humming a tune as 
he surveyed the ever-changing crowd. It 
seemed possible that at any moment after 
this preparatory exercise he might break forth 
into the ordered harmony of " O ! dem golden 
slippers," or u Way down upon 
de Swanny Riven" The dis- 
tinguished stranger was, how- 
ever, none other than the 
emissary of the Republic of 
Hayti at the Court of the 
Queen of England and Empress 
of India. 

, A Minister I met 

at the birthday party 

told me he never 

r e - e n t e r ed the 
Foreign Office on these occa- 
sions without melancholy reflec- 
tions on his earliest experience. 
It happened that his appoint- 
ment to Ministerial office exactly 
coincided with opportunity to 
appear at the birthday party, for 
t*ie first time in Ministerial 
uniform. There was not much 
time to spare for preparation. 
But the tailor faithfully promised 
that the uniform should' be deli- 
vered for the eventful occasion. 
The parcel had not arrived by dinner-time on 
the appointed day, and things began to look 
gloomy. The Minister waited on in hope, 
reflecting that if it came to the worst he might 
go in ordinary evening clothes, Still, on 





such an occasion he would like to wear the 
unwonted uniform. 

Just as he had given up hope and was 
mournfully surveying his modest claw-hammer 
coat, a messenger arrived from the tailor with 
the precious bundle. The Minister hastily 
but satisfactorily dressed, and got to the 
Foreign Office in such good time that he 
was able to make his way up the compara- 
tively uncrowded staircase in considerably 
under a quarter of an hour* 

As he walked about the 
reception-room he was con- 
scious of being an object of 
marked attention. That was 
not unexpected — was indeed, 
as he felt, his due. He was a 
new and, he hoped, a popular 
Minister, wearing for the first 
time a novel, and, he had reason 
to believe j a becoming uniform. 
Still, it was odd that everyone 
should turn round to look at 
him, and he was uncomfortably 
conscious of a smile broaden- 
ing as he passed along. 

**My dear fellow/' said a 
coIleague 3 gently taking his arm 
and leading him to a recess^ 
" for goodness' sake let me take 
these bits of paper off the 
buttons at the back of your 

The wretched tailor, in send- 
ing the coat home, had omitted 
to remove the bits of soft 
that guarded the gilt buttons from 
The hapless Minister, hurriedly 
dressing, had not noted the carelessness, 
and for nearly an hour had strutted through 
the brilliant scene thus curiously adorned. 


by Google 

Original from 

From the French of Eugene Mouton. 

Bonne Mbre< 
took the lead 
described the manners of 

\ T his return from Cochin 
China, where France 1 had not 
then set foot, one of my friends 
came to dine with me one day, 
as well as Congourdan, the 
captain of the corsatr La 
As usual, the new arrival 
in the conversation. He 
the Siamese, and, 

in due course, came to the strange and 
horrible punishments which, as everybody 
knows, are among the most marked pecu- 
liarities of this very remarkable people. 

When a subject of this kind is introduced 
into a conversation, you know how difficult it 
is to drive it away— a sort of mysterious 
attraction always brings it back again, I did 
my best to give a gayer turn to our table 
talk, but I only succeeded in still further 
exciting the orator. In despair, I had re- 
course to the worthy captain, who, silently 
smoking his cigar, appeared to be listening 
with deep attention, 

"What do you say to those charming traits 
of national character, captain?" I asked. 
" Aren't those stories horrible enough to drive 
the hearers into a lunatic asylum ? To listen 
to them, and see what human creatures can 
be made to suffer at the hands of their 
fellows, makes me think that it would be 
better to fall into the clutches of a gorilla or 
a monster octopus, as you have done, than 
into the grip of a man ! " 

VoL *fii.— 91. 


" You are right," he replied ; " Tve bought 
that knowledge at a heavy price," 

"You have fallen into the hands of the 
Siamese ? " 

" No ; into the hands of one of my enemies. 
But, white as he was, he treated me in such a 
way that your Siamese and Cochin Chinese 
tortures are mere ticklings in comparison 
with what he made me suffer." 

The surprise and interest I felt in all that 
concerned the captain's adventure made me 
wholly forget that I was trying to turn the 
conversation into a livelier channel, and I 
could not help saying, pressingly, "Tell us 
about it," to which he replied :— 

"My dear friend, you cannot imagine 
what the life of a sailor is. It is not only the 
accidents of the sea he has to count with. 
You make a good passage — all goes well ; you 
don't so much as break a hawser ; you land 
your cargo — not a bale damaged. You re- 
load and put your bill of hiding in your pocket. 
Good back freight, good crew. You pat your- 
self on the chest, and say : ' Marius, my boy, 
you've done a winning stroke of business.' 

" Oh ! it always comes upon you when 
and from where you least expect it ! A tile, 
as big as a house, falls crash upon your head. 
That's just what happened to me at Mobile, 
about eight o'clock one fine November 
morning, and you'll see whether I could have 
been on the look-out for it 

"My vessel was at the lading-quay. I 




went on shore over a single plank, almost 
always alone j for my crew, with the excep- 
tion of two men, to keep watch, were about 
in the city or its neighbourhood. It was not 
too hot; it wanted two hours of breakfast 
time, and I said to myself: — 

" * Suppose you go and see the consignee ? ' 

" This gentleman, who was a Marseillais, 
and whom I knew well, lived about half a 
league out of the city. The way to his 
house w f as along the river on a well-kept 
road, shaded with trees and bordered by 
country houses and gardens. 

" I had gone about a third of the way 
without having seen anybody besides a sort 
of red-headed giant, dressed as a hunter, who 
had followed me out of the city. He passed 
me once or tsvice, then fell back, then 
advanced again. These tactics were begin- 
ning to annoy me, because, in that country, 
as you know, one must always be upon one's 
guard. Continuing my way, and without 
seeming to do it purposely, I turned round 
and looked at him, at the same time moving 
my hand towards my revolver and glancing 
at my belt, to see that my knife was within 
easy reach. 

11 1 had not time to raise my 
head, my dear friend, before I 
was stretched upon the ground 
like an ox, half strangled by a 
lasso which the scoundrel had 
thrown over my head. I put up 
my hands to save my throat \ 
but, in the twinkling of an eve, 
he dragged me into a garden, 
the gate of which slammed to 
behind him, and I became un- 

11 When I recovered my 
senses, I was seated in a chair, 
my arms and legs free, in the 
midst of a garden filled with 
flowers. Before me stood a 
group of evil-looking men, fore- 
most amongst whom I recog- 
nised a tall rascal of an American 
sailor who, three years earlier, 
had almost caused my crew to 
break into mutiny. But I had 
made him pay dearly for his 
freak, by first giving him the wet 
and then the dry hold* 

u You don't know what the wet 
hold means? You are lashed 
along a spar, then drawn by a 
pulley up to one end of the 
main -yard, from which height 
you are three times dropped into 

the sea and hauled under the ship's keel. 
For the dry hold, you are three times made 
to drop upon the deck. 

" He had begged and prayed, and thrown 
himself upon his knees before me, like a 
child j but I never go back on my word. 
When he came out of the water the third 
time, he was mad with fear and anger. When 
they began to haul him up for the dry 
hold, his yells were so frightful as to make 
the whole crew shudder — I even saw some 
of them inclined to snivel ; but I looked at 
them, and that didn't last long, I tell you ! 
Then he uttered such threats against me 
as I have never heard in all my life. As you 
may suppose, I merely shrugged my shoulders 
—but that did not prevent my keeping a 
close eye upon him all the rest of the voyage, 
during which he did his work without in- 
curring any further punishment. 

"At the end of the passage, when we 
landed at Havre, he came very respectfully, 
hat in hand, to settle his account ; but, when 
he had signed a receipt and pocketed his 
money, he clapped his hat upon his head 
and, seizing my hand, said to me : — 

" ' Now that you have no more power over 

I ! K > ■ ,i K K. to 

inal from 




me, captain, if you will take a word of ad- 
vice from me, you will pray to your Virgin 
never to let me meet with you out of France ! ' 

"That said, he walked away, darting at me 
the glances of a rattlesnake* 

"I was not much disquieted by this threat, 


though I determined to bear it in mind, 
knowing that he was quite capable of carry- 
ing it into execution. But, in the long run, 
one forgets things, and I ceased to remember 
him, though I had written conspicuously on 
the cover of my log-book, on the front page 
of my pocket-book, and on the outside of my 
case of charts : * Beware of the American. 1 So 
that, on seeing him before me surrounded 
by his pals, I was astonished only at one 
thing — to find myself still living ; but I quite 
understood that that fact did not go for 

11 * Captain Marius Congourdan/ he asked, 
smiling like a demon, 'do you remember 

H * Enough of that,' I replied. 'You want 
to assassinate me — do it out of hand. But 
you are a coward and I despise you — and 
you don't make me fear you in the least, 1 

" I rose, with the intention of advancing 
up to them, but felt myself held back, and 
then perceived that I was fastened by a 
leathern belt and a long rope to an enormous 
balloon secured by four ropes to as many 

" { Wretches ! 'I cried, 'at least you are 
not going to hang me ? — it is only thieves or 
traitors that are hanged, and all that I have 
done in this world has been done openly and 
boldly ! J 

"The American advanced a step and 
replied to me : — 

"' Captain Congourdan, the punishment 
which is about to be inflicted on you is of 
my invention, and does not in any way re- 
semble the penalties known on earth. For 
three years I have 
suffered by your order 
and unjustly, for 1 was 
innocent. I have spent 
days and nights trying to 
invent a torture by which 
I could bring you to 
death through sufferings 
unknown in the history 
of man's ferocity j at 
length I have discovered 
this ! ' 

" And he pointed to 
the balloon. 

" ' You need not trou- 
ble yourself to explain 
your purpose/ I said. 
* You are angry with me 
— you have me in your 
power, and I cannot 
defend myself. Ah ! — 
thousand millions of 
thunders ! — if I only had you for five minutes 
on the deck of Bonne Mire, you and your 
crew of ruffians ! ' 

" To this outbreak he paid no heed what- 
ever, but bowed his head as if in an effort to 
concentrate his thoughts. 

Ui h\ the first place,' he said, ' understand 
that, in what I am going to do to you, 1 shall 
be carrying out a sentence regularly pro- 
nounced on you in accordance with lynch 
law. The men you see about you are 
American citizens, my friends, and it is in 
virtue of the verdict found by them that you 
are going to be punished. 

u * As I wish you, if it be possible, to 
exhaust the measure of what a man may 
suffer," he went on, * you must be made to 
know in advance what is going to happen to 
you. Do not be afraid of dying too quickly. 
You just now asked whether w T e were going 
to hang you. Bah ! that would be mere 
child's play 1 I might have had you broken 
up limb by limb, flogged to death, or inflicted 
on you one of those Chinese punishments, 
the mere recital of w*hich makes one feel all 
goose-flesh ; but that would not have satisfied 
me, and I have found something better. 
Without shedding a drop of your blood, with- 
cuit touching a hair of your head, I am going to 
make you pass through terrors and agonies 

^wM^ff^^fff-feff 13 " suffering ! ' 



" * I am not afraid of pain/ I said ; ' no 
living man can boast of ever having made me 
fear him, and that honour will not be yours, 
scoundrel that you are ! ' 

"To tell the truth, my dear friend, I felt 
my heart sinking. He appeared to be so sure 
of his purpose, and the balloon had about it 
something so strange and mysterious, that, 
in spite of myself, I changed colour. He 
perceived this, and I saw in his face a smile 
of infernal satisfaction. 

11 ' Perhaps you'll be better able to judge as 
to that presently/ he said. ' To assist you, 
I'll describe to you some of the torments 
you will have to pass through on your way 
to death. You will be slung by a stout belt of 
buffalo-hide beneath a balloon filled with gas. 
Shortly, when I give the word, the four ropes 
by which it is held will be detached, and 
it will rise, carrying you away with it into 
the air. It will continue to mount until, 
distended by the reduction of atmospheric 
pressure, it will burst and let you fall from a 
height of fifteen or twenty thousand feet 

" ' You will first feel your feet lifted from 
the ground, then sweep the points of the 
grass. Your arms and legs will agitate in 
space, and your body will swing over the 
abyss growing from moment to moment 
deeper and deeper. You will feel yourself 
drawn into and absorbed by the void : terror, 
cold, stifling agony, will hold you for long 
hours suspended between all that there may be 
most terrifying in life and death ! Now you are 
going to start ! But, first, we'll walk you about 
for a few seconds, to enable you to take leave 
of the earth. Look well at these trees, these 
flowers, this beautiful country, and, more 
than all, at this green sward, on which it is 
so pleasant to tread : in a few moments you 
will have quitted all that — and you will never 
see it again ! ' 

"At a sign made by him, four men 
detached the ropes holding the balloon to the 
trees, and all, keeping their distance, began 
to move away slowly. A sudden jerk threw 
me off my balance, but I was held up by the 
cord by which I was fastened to the machine. 

" Then began a scene, the mere memory 
of which makes the flesh creep on my bones. 
In the movement given to the balloon, it 
rose and fell, making the cord which sus- 
tained me now too short, now too long, now 
taking me off my feet, now causing my knees 
to bend under me, then jerking me up into 
the air miserably, like a marionette at the 
end of a string, the monsters who were in- 
flicting this torture on me laughing all the 
time till their sides ached. 

" Seeing this, I had for a moment an idea 
that the whole proceeding was nothing more 
than a bad joke, and that when they were 
tired of it, they would let me go ; but the face 
of the American did not long allow me to 
deceive myself. 

" It expressed demoniacal enjoyment His 
panting breath hissed through his rapidly 
opening and closing nostrils, and sounds like 
the half-stifled roars of a wild beast issued 
from his compressed lips. When he had 
gloated on the sight long enough, he cried in 
a loud voice : ' Stop ! ' 

" The four men halted, and I regained my 
feet. He then called to one of the gang, 
who brought him a big bottle, a large piece 
of roast beef, and a loaf of Jbread in a net bag. 
Two men held me by the arms, while a third 
fastened the bag to my belt. 

" ' As I don't know how long you will take 
to die,' he said, ' I should be sorry to leave 
you to expire of hunger and thirst ; here you 
will find food and drink for three days. By the 
way, don't hope to make yourself drunk : the 
bottle only contains water with a little brandy 
in it, sufficient to keep up your strength and 
prolong your existence. Now you have half 
an hour to think of your spiritual affairs ; that 
over, your sentence will be carried out.' 

" I cannot describe to you, and you cannot 
imagine, my dear friend, the horrors of that 
half-hour ! At length, he looked at his watch. 

" ' Let go one rope/ he cried. Then, 
after a pause, which seemed to me not more 
than the fraction of a second, he shouted 
again, 4 Another ! Another ! ' 

"Held now only by a single rope, the 
balloon began to sway, but was held down 
by four strong men. Then, as if to enjoy my 
agony for the last time, the American came 
slowly towards me with one of his gang. He 
placed himself in front of me so near as 
almost to touch me. I could easily have 
seized and strangled him, but I said to my- 

" { Who knows ? — there is still, perhaps, a 
spark of pity in his heart ; if I make a ges- 
ture, he has but one word to say.' He said 

" Suddenly, as if moved by a spring, he 
raised his head, flashed at me a glance of 
triumph, made a sign for the rope to be 
released, and said to me, with a laugh that 
could only be uttered by a demon : — 

" * Good voyage to you, Captain Marius 
Congourdan — we are now quits ! ' 

" * Not yet ! ' I cried ; and seizing him by 
the hand, I carried him up with me. My 
Americ^^l^^i^ig^ open my 





fingers, but found the attempt to be useless, 
and as the balloon was rising, was only able 
to clutch the hand of the friend who, as I 
cold you, was at his side. But the balloon 
dragged him upwards* Fastened as I was by 
the waist-belt, the weight of these two men 
caused me to hang with ray head downwards 
and my feet in the air. But that position, 
awkward as it was, gave me the free use of 
my two hands, and I seized him with my 
other hand. He could do nothing, and 
hung between the friend he was holding and 
myself, who would not let him go, 

"* Courage, Marius ! * I said to myself; 
' so long as you hold on, the balloon will not 
mount far, and there may be time for help to 
arrive ! ' 

11 At that moment I heard a frightful crash 
on the side of the garden gate — the wooden 
barrier flew into splinters, and a dozen of my 
sailors, led by my little cabin boy, B^noni, 
dashed across the flower-beds. But the 
balloon swayed upwards so much that the 
friend, feeling ground no longer under his 
feet, cried to the American, f I must leave 

" As he spoke ne opened his handj but the 
other gripped it only the more tightly* 

"' Let go, or I'll cut your hand away! 1 
cried the friend, at the same time drawing a 
keen-edged bowie knife, and slashing at the 
American's fingers, which instantly relaxed 
their hold, and the balloon, lightened by a 
hundred and fifty pounds weight, took flight 
All this needed only a few seconds to enact 
When my sailors came up, the balloon was 
yet not more than fifty feet from the ground, 
and, as the rope was thirty feet long to which 
I was fastened and the American was hanging 
below me, we were only a few feet out of 
reach. But I was beyond assistance, and 
could only call out to my men : ' Good-bye, 
lads ! ' 

"Up, up went the balloon. Below me I 
saw my sailors turn for a moment, mad with 
rage, to the spot whence the balloon had 
mounted ; then, like a troop of tigers, they 
dashed upon the gang of scoundrels, who, 
with their noses in the air, were thinking only 
of the American. 

" In spite of the frightful position in 
whic^^^a^^OpdjFBc^^ the whole of 



the two parties gathered as if into a black 
ball, out of which issued a dozen pistol-shots. 
But I had other things to think of. I still 
clutched the American with both hands. The 
wretch writhed like a shark on a hook, and 
roared frightfully. But it was all of no use ; 
no power in the world could make me quit 
my hold on him : my hands were riveted to 

"- ' Mercy ! mercy ! ' he cried. 

" c Mercy ? You are a nice fellow, to ask 
mercy of me! I shall let "you go — but not 
just yet. Do you understand what I mean 
by that?' 

" ' Save me, and I will save you ! Hold 
me by my wounded hand, and leave the 
other free. I have a revolver — I will fire 
into the balloon — make a rent for the gas to 
escape — and in a quarter 
of an hour we shall reach 
the earth ! ' 

"You must be hang- 
ing five hundred feet in 
the air to realize what 
one feels on hearing that 
word ' earth ' ! In a 
moment I seized his left 
hand and let go the 
other. He drew his re- 
volver and fired. But we 
had not taken into 
account the swaying of 
the balloon, which was 
untouched, and went on 
mounting higher and 

He let his revolver fall, 
and again seized me with 
his freed hand; not a 
moment too soon, for the 
blood of his wounded 
hand was gradually mak- 
ing it slip through my 


" ' Captain,' he cried, 
wild with terror, 'in the 
name of your eternal 
salvation, do not let go 
of me ! ' 

"' Not let go of you?' 
I replied. ' Do you think 
I am going to hold on to 
you in this way to the 
hour of my death ? What 
I am already suffering 
in my arms, my shoulders, 
my back, no tongue can 
tell, and if my hands had 
not been fixed like claws 


of iron, they would long ago have opened. 
For the past ten minutes the blood has been 
settling in my brain and eyes and I have been 
in a sort of dream, that will tell you that, at 
any moment now, you will have to make the 
plunge. You have behaved very badly to 
me — but I was too severe, unjust perhaps 
towards you. You have avenged yourself, 
and I am doing the same — and we are both 
going to die. I can only hold you a few 
seconds longer — do you repent ? ' 

" * No ! ' he hissed, through his clenched 

" c Well,' I gasped, l I repent of what I did 
to you ; as for what you have done to me, I 
forgive you for it.' 

" i Congourdan,' he said, raising his eyes 
towards me, i I also forgive you — and may 
God save you ! ' 

" My hands opened — 
he uttered a shriek— and 
I saw him go down, turn- 
ing over in the void, like 
a bale of merchandise 
thrown into the sea. 

" Down to that point I 
had remained conscious 
of my situation, though I 
had begun to feel dizzy,, 
owing to the flow of blood 
into my head ; but, on 
returning to an upright 
posture, I felt like a 
drunken man become 
sobered. But, then ! — 
but, then 1 Hanging, face 
downwards, by my belt, 
I could have sworn that 
the earth was above me ! 
I stretched out my hands 
— my feet, in a mad 
effort to clutch it — to 
hold on to it ! 

"At the same moment, 
something more terrible 
still, perhaps, happened 
to me. Whether it was 
owing to a rising of the 
wind, or to the lightening 
of the balloon by the fall 
of the American, I began 
to feel a rolling move- 
, '' ment, becoming more and 

more violent, till my body 
swayed backwards and 
forwards over a space of 
fifty or sixty feet. Every 
time I reached the highest 
point, there was a jerk 



which nearly broke my back, and I said to 
myself, * The rope will break ! ' And, indeed, 
I do not know why it did not snap asunder. 
As often as I felt the upward sway beginning, 
I shut my eyes, and murmured : 'It's all 
over ! ' 

" How long this went on I cannot tell 
you, for after awhile I lost consciousness — 
happily, for otherwise I should have gone 

" My first sensation, on coming to, was a 
feeling of extraordinary refreshment I 
involuntarily raised my hands to my face, 
and, on withdrawing them, found them 
filled with blood, which was escaping from 
my mouth, nose, and ears. Doubtless this 
bleeding had relieved my head, for I regained 
complete consciousness. I could no longer 
see the earth, and was floating smoothly 
through an atmosphere of unbroken cloud, 
as if I had been on board my ship in the 
midst of a thick mist. 

" With the recovery of my senses, I began 
to think of all that I could possibly do in my 
situation. First I noticed that my girdle had 
shifted considerably below my waist, and that 
fact suggested to me the idea that I might 
be able to get it still lower into such a posi- 
tion that, by clinging to the rope to which it 
was attached, I might turn it into a seat. 
After many efforts, I succeeded in achieving 
this change of posture, and so obtaining 
enormous bodily relief. My spirits rose and, 
after resting for a while, I said to myself : — 

" ' Courage, Marius ! you'll be able to save 
yourself after all, perhaps ! You have got a 
seat, instead of being hung. None of your 
bones are broken; you have a stout rope 
between your hands — and a sailor can do 
many things with a rope. You don't want 
for food, and — talking of victuals and drink, 
a moment, just now, would be well spent in 
tasting the contents of your wallet* 

"A quarter of an hour later, after having 
eaten a good lump of roast beef, washed 
down with three or four mouthfuls of grog, I 
had recovered my usual sang-froid. Look- 
ing up at the balloon above me, I said to 
myself : — 

" ' You'll do nothing by staying down 
here at the end of a rope that is bound to 
break under you, sooner or later.' 

" I tried to draw myself up to the balloon, 
hand over hand ; but it was beyond my ex- 
hausted powers. Half-a-dozen times I re- 
peated the endeavour, but vainly ; and the 
last time, my remains of strength suddenly 
deserted me. I lost courage — relaxed my 
hold, and fell back, groaning : — 

Vol. viiL— 32. 

"' I'm done for!' 

" If, unluckily, my legs had been straight- 
ened out, I should have slipped through 
the belt, and all would have been over; 
fortunately, they were hooked at the knees, 
and the shock which I sustained when they 
caught in it told me that I was not yet lost. 

" As you may imagine, my dear friend, I 
did not allow myself to remain long in that 
position : in a very few moments I regained 
my sitting posture. 

" c Thousand thunders, no ! ' I said to 
myself, after resting awhile, 'it shall never 
be said that Captain Marius Congourdan lost 
his life through being unable to swarm up 
30ft of rope. But what you have first to 
do is to recover some of your strength, and 
then to find some means of resting on the 
road, while you are hauling yourself up hand 
over hand.' That problem posed me ; for I 
could see no possible way of refastening my 
belt to the rope higher up with less than the 
use of three hands. 

" I believe I fairly howled with rage on 
coming to this conclusion ; I even went so 
far as to seize the maddening rope in my 
teeth and to dig my whole thirty-two ivory 
nippers into it Miracle ! I had found a third 
hand in my jaws. 

" I lost not a moment in setting to work. 
I advanced gently : one, two, a grip of my 
teeth; then, letting the rope go with both 
hands, I untied the knot at my belt, drew in 
the slack, and, as well as I could, re-tied the 
rope, of which there was now three feet less 
above me. I then resumed my sitting pos- 
ture and rested a bit. 

"Three times I repeated this operation, 
and, at last, found myself hanging only two 
feet below the cords of the net — near enough 
to seize hold of them. I gripped one of 
them, and in a few moments was touching 
the balloon. In that position I felt almost 
reassured, and began really to hope that I 
should be able to save myself; the solid 
machine, which hid a portion of the sky 
above me, seemed like a sheltering roof. 

" I scratched with my nails the material of 
which the balloon was made, and found it 
much stronger than I had imagined it to be ; 
it was coated with a hard varnish, and was 
so tightly stretched that it was impossible to 
make any impression on its surface. 

" l The thing to be done now, is to make 
this big ball descend,' I said to myself ; ' but 
how ? ' More than ten times in succession 
I repeated, as a way of encouraging myself, 
the words of the American : ' I have a 
revolver ~-I will fire intc f:be balloon — make 




a vent for the gas to escape — and in a quarter 
of an hour we shall reach the earth ! ' 

" I repeated those words like a madman ! 
Oh ! once again to see trees, flowers, houses, 
men ! to feel gravel crunch under my feet ! 
Ah ! my poor ship, my Bonne Mire — to be 
once more on her deck, in fair weather, at 
sunrise — my crew lying right and left of me 
and singing gaily, while I, lounging on my 
quarter-deck, with a good cigar between my 
lips, hum some little Marseillais air. c Ah ! 
though I have to tear it open with my teeth, 
I must — however I do it — make an opening 
in that great bag of gas ! ' 

" I plunged my right hand into one 
of my pockets and drew forth my knife 
— a dagger-knife, with a blade sharp 
enough and strong enough to rip open 
a rhinoceros : I opened it and plunged it 
into the balloon. Misery ! I struck the 
point against one of the knots in the netting 
— the blade snapped and fell into space, 
leaving the handle in my grasp. For a 

few moments I felt petrified, then, seized with 
despair, I was strongly inclined to release 
my hold and so, at once, put an end to my 

" But I am not a man to give in so easily 
as that. I soon regained my courage, and 
searched amongst all the objects I had about 
me for something with which to pierce the 
balloon. I broke a franc-piece between my 
teeth ; but it was not pointed enough. For 
a moment I thought of breaking my bottle 
and using the foot of it for a knife ; but I 
reflected that I should deprive myself of the 
drink which had sustained me, and of which 
I might still have need, 

" After once more vainly searching in all 
my pockets, with a feeling of despair, I passed 
my hand round my waist-band and felt a sharp 
prick in one of my fingers — the buckle of my 
trousers ! With an almost frantic move- 
ment I tore it from the band to which it was 
attached, and found that it had three sharp 
prongs. These I plunged into the balloon 
as high as I could reach. Three hisses 
burst from it, swelling into a whistle like 
that of a blacksmith's forge. The balloon 
had begun to empty itself ! To say that it 
began to descend was more than I knew, 
for it did not seem to change its position in 
the least. At the end of a few minutes, 
however, I felt positively that the cold was 
diminishing, and that I could breathe more 

"A fresh uneasiness overtook me. The 
material of which the balloon was made was 
rent, and the slit was perceptibly growing 
longer and longer. 

" ' If that goes on/ I said to myself, ' the 
balloon will open from bottom to top, and 
you and it will fall in a mass ! ' 

"Fortunately, the meshes of the net 
afforded me a little hope, for on reaching the 
cord the opening appeared to stop. That 
calmed me somewhat, and I took advantage 
of the relief to look below me. 

" I assure you, my dear friend, if I had 
not been in such a cruel position, I 
should have thought the spectacle which met 
my eyes one of the most beautiful a man 
could look upon. All about me was brilliant 
sunlight, unbroken by the least speck of mist. 
Beneath me — three or four hundred feet — 
rolled a sea of clouds, half black, half fire- 
red, as if I had been descending into a 
blazing coal-furnace. In a few minutes we 
reached it and were enveloped in a mist, first 
white, then grey, then nearly black ; then I 
heard a dull, booming sound, and felt a 
furious gust of wind ; ihen came a frightful 



burst of lightning and thunder, with torrents 
of rain and hail, the stones as big as pigeons' 
eggs. One flash of lightning passed through 
another^ so that I could see as plainly as in 
broad daylight. 

" I was horribly alarmed, as you may 
easily imagine ; and yet, when I think of 
what I then saw. when I recall how I was 

and Avts^ I sang Marseilles songs, I flung 
my limbs about as if I had been dancing. 
Alas ! my good friend, my joy was not to 
last long ! 

" I felt a burning and powerful wind, and 
concluded from that that the balloon would 
be carried swiftly before it. Looking at the 
sun, which was getting low, I saw that we 


dazzled by those morsels of ice illuminated 
by the lightning-flashes, falling like a shower 
of inflamed pearls and diamonds, I wish I 
could see it all again— but not from the cords 
of a balloon. 

" The thunderstorm lasted for about a 
quarter of an hour, and then gradually sub- 
sided, the clouds becoming every moment 
lighter. A warm breath of wind shook the 
balloon and turned it round ; the mist grew 
thinner and thinner, and, by degrees, as 
through a gauze veil, I perceived beneath me 
an immense stretch of green and yellow— it 
was the earth ! " 

Here the captain, as if suffocated with 
emotion, paused, his big eyes rolling and his 
lips quivering. Tears came into my eyes as 
I took his trembling hands in mine and 
wrung them heartily, 

"Thanks!" he said: "I well know that 
you love me. You fancy I was now at the 
end of my sufferings? Ah ! listen ! 

"At sight of the earth, I went out of my 
senses* I shouted, I wept, I recited Paters 

were going towards the north-west I was 
making these observations when, twice, in 
rapid succession, a * Slish ! slish ! ' and, 
looking up, saw with alarm that the rent I 
had made in the balloon had increased over 
the space of two meshes of the net, and had 
become at least a foot and a half long. This 
discovery filled me with apprehension of the 
machine descending too rapidly. Against 
that there was no remedy— I could only 
trust to fortune, and pray that Providence 
would not, after all, abandon me. 

" On we whirled. The space below me 
changed colour : one part became a pale and 
unbroken plain of blue ; another a dark 
green streaked with deep yellow or light 
brown* I comprehended that the blue part 
was the sea, the other the land. The balloon 
gave a fresh i slish ! i followed speedily by 
two more ! 

11 The sounds sent a thrill of terror through 
me, but, on looking up and seeing the 


F^jAfJut I still hoped 

23 6 


that we might reach the ground before the 
rent extended from bottom to top. At the 
rate at which we were being sent along, the 
end of the voyage could not be far off; for I 
felt my beard and whiskers lifted by the air 
through which we were driven. Every 
moment the colours beneath became more 
positive — every moment objects separated 
themselves from the plain* Ah ! — a moun- 
tain ! — a wood ! — a rock !• — a prairie ! — a 
lake ! The hke grew wider — wider ; trees 
sprang up on the borders of it — became 
enormous. The balloon descended towards 
it — 'lower, lower. A flight of birds sped 
across the water. Sounds came up from the 
earth— the cry of beasts. The wind made 
the balloon deviate a little from its course, 
and it was so violent as nearly to prevent my 

" On, on, we are whirled. We are not 
more than sixty feet from the water ! The 
wind grows stronger, we fly more quickly ; 
but the gas is escaping, the balloon is 
splitting — is falling, lower and lower; we 
are within thirty feet of the water ! Another 

thirty feet and we shall touch the shore ; 
twenty feet more and I am in the water ! A 
furious gust raises the balloon a few feet ; 
one more — and I am saved ! 

u The gust exhausted itself* The balloon 
continued to descend, the wind driving it to 
within two paces of the shore at the foot of 
a ledge of rock, I drew my body out of my 
belt and, swinging myself with my hands, 
dropped into the water, swam to the rock and 
clutched hold of it. I was saved ! " 

"And then ?" I said 

il Then ? " he answered, crossing his arms, 
u that's a nice question ! What more do you 
want me to tell you ? I should have thought 
that what I have told you was enough for 
one dose of goose-flesh ! " 

" No doubt j no doubt, What I want to 
learn is, how you got back to Mobile ? " 

"How? — can't anybody with a tongue in 
his head get from anywhere to Rome ? The 
proof of it is that, by one means and another, 
I finished by finding my way ; and, by the 
same token, here I am ! What is there to be 
said against that ? " 

by Google 

Original from 

The King and Queen of Denmark, 

By Mary Spencer-Warren, 

HRISTIAN IX, , King of Den- 
mark, born on April 8th, 1S1S, 
married Louisa, daughter of 
the late landgrave Wilhelm 
of Hesse, a niece of the late 
Christian VII 1., and also of 
the late Duchess of Cambridge, being born 
on September 7th, 1817. He succeeded 
to the throne on November 15th, 1863. 
Six children have been born to their 
Majesties : Frederick, the Crown Prince, 
the Princess of Wales, George I., King 
of Greece, the Empress of Russia, the 
Duchess of Cumberland, and Prince Yalde- 
mar* They were all born with more than the 
average share of good looks, and the fortunate - 
way the King and Queen married off their 
children is proverbial Our Princess of Wales 
has t>een with us so long now, and has so fully 
established herself in the hearts of the people, 
that anything appertain- 
ing to her early home 
cannot fail to be read with 
appreciative interest* 
Hence, I gladly undertook 
the somewhat tedious 
journey to Copenhagen, 
having the King's gracious 
permission to explore and 
photograph his palaces. 

The present Royal resi- 
dence, Amalienborg, con- 
sists of four small palaces, 
which were bought by 
King Christian VI L, in 
1794, after Christiansborg 
was destroyed by fire. 
One of these palaces con- 
tains what is known as 
the State apartments, two 
being occupied by the 
King and Crown Prince ; 
the fourth being used as 
the Foreign Office. 

Here I may say a few 
prefatory words concerning 
the King and Queen, 
They are no strangers to 
us, having visited London 
on several occasions, 
always receiving a de- 
servedly hearty welcome. 
The genial, kindly nature 
of the King is well 


known j and it is for this, quite as much 
as for the great strides his country has made 
under his rule, that he is so much beloved 
by his subjects. On account of his age he is 
now prohibited from the activity ki public 
questions he formerly displayed, but though 
living a somewhat retired life, he is a familiar 
figure in the streets of the capital, and on 
several occasions I met him walking quietly 
along j quite unattended, looking with in- 
terest into the various shops, or stopping 
now and again to gaze at anything going 
on around him always acknowledging the 
respectful salutations with which he was 
greeted* His Majesty shows a remarkable 
activity for his age— which age he carries 
so well that few would believe him to 
be between seventy and eighty* The eldest 
son of the Crown Prince is an expert bicycle 
rider, and nearly every day may be seen riding 
to and fro to his duties 
connected with the regi- 
ment of Life Guards to 
which he is attached* clad 
in undress uniform. 

Her Majesty the Queen 
is remarkably gifted in 
many ways. Of the 
extremely useful education 
which was imparted to her 
daughters all are familiar. 
The early days of our 
Princess and her sisters 
were not remarkably 
affluent ones, so that the 
training of necessity com- 
pelled very much of the 
useful The Princess of 
Wales's good taste and 
remarkable needlewt >rk 
abilities seem to have been 
inherited, as Her Majesty 
the Queen is much gifted 
in that direction* She is 
also a skilful and cultivated 
musician, being a good 
pianiste, and a harpist of 
more than ordinary ability. 
Whenever she has the op- 
portunity, her great delight 
is to take part in harp trios, 
either with professional 

players or finished ama- 
^Xa^^fcfiRSITYOFtM^HK^H * of course, 

2 3 8 


Frvm a PHato. bj/J 


considerably advanced in years, 
husband, her appearance would 
believe her much 
younger ; and so 
extremely active 
are her movements, 
that when she 
attended the wed- 
ding of her grand- 
son, the Duke of 
York, comments 
as to her youthful 
vigour were freely 
in terchange d 
amongst the com- 
pany present. 

It is admitted on 
all sides that this 
King and Queen 
are a remarkable 
couple ; they and 
their family being 
certainly destined 
to become pro- 
minent figures in 
the world's history. 
T w o of their 
children occupy 

but, ; 


ike her 
one to 

thrones ; another is likely to do so 
in the future — although we hope 
that future may be far ahead ; 
while still a larger number of their 
grandchildren will occupy similar 
eminent positions. If anything were 
wanted to show the universal popu- 
larity of these monarchs, the cele- 
bration of their golden wedding 
amply supplied the want. On lhat 
occasion congratulations and presents 
poured in from nearly all quarters 
of the globe. The festivities con- 
nected with the event lasted for 
one week ; com prising audiences, 
receptions, State dinners, balls, and 
a public thanksgiving service at the 
church, to which all the Royal 
personages, Ambassadors, and En- 
voys went in procession* In the 
Palace, to which I shall presently 
draw your attention, may be seen 
many of the presents given at the 
time ; perhaps one of the most 
highly valued would be the beautiful 
golden wreath, to which ioo,-ooo 
school-children each subscribed one 
penny* A special feature of the 
celebration was the immense number 
of free dinners given to the poor 
all over the King's dominions, and 
the creation of one or two special charities 
from sums freely subscribed for the purpose. 



2 39 

Fram a PhuttK by tiunn <f St Hart. 

But the King allows us to see some of the 
rooms, so we enter the Palace of A malt en- 
borg, and proceeding to the State apart- 
ments, commence with the Dining Room* 
This is a long and spacious apartment, beau- 
tifully decorated, and made brilliant with the 
electric lights lately introduced. The ceiling 
is cream with gold relief, and casts of plaster 
figures, the whole supported with Ionic 
columns. The panels of the walls have also 
beautiful gold relief ornaments. Over each 
of the doorways 
are paintings, some 
on porcelain, some 
on canvas. Three 
beautiful crystal 
and ormolu chande- 
liers are suspended 
from the ceiling, 
and at either end 
of the room are 
immense marble 
and gilt sideboards, 
tke centre of each 
showing fountains 
supported with the 
armsingold, and pis- 
catorial decorations 
of the same. The 
furniture is in crim- 
son and gold, with 
curtains of crimson 
brocade and Brus- 
sels lace alternate. 

The Throne Room is quite small, 
and really is more of an audience 
chamber than a throne room proper, 
and is used by the King for such 
purposes. On a dais stands the 
chair in crimson velvet and gold, 
with a carved top surmounted by 
crown and " C IX. " The canopy is 
of crimson velvet lined with cream 
silk, the roof of which is profusely 
ornamented with gold crown and 
gold carving, cord, tassels, and 
fringe being of the same hue. On 
either side are beautiful paintings 
by old masters,' with some similar 
ones in panels over the door- 
ways. The decorations of this 
room are in* cream and gold, the 
floor being covered with a costly 
Persian carpet 

Then I go through a corridor 
rich in old paintings, prominent 
amongst which is a full-length one 
of George II L of England in his 
coronation robes; and soon into the 
Ball Room — a room more than ordinarily 
rich with artistic decorations. Indeed, 
so brilliant is its appearance, that although 
I have seen larger, I have seen none 
so beautiful in Europe, The matchless 
parquetry floor, the rich colours of the 
many paintings, the crystal and gold of the 
chandeliers, the cream with gold relief of 
ceiling and walls, the rich crimson and costly 
white lace curtains, with the added effects of 
marble-topped console tables and costly Sevres 

[(jUHJlit ->{*!! rt. 



china, combine 
to make a scene 
of really fairy -I ike 

In a reception- 
room near at 
hand stands a 
framed group on 
an easeL It was 
a golden- wedding 
present to their 
Majesties, depict- 
ing themselves, 
their children, 
and their child- 
ren's wives and 
husbands. The 
likenesses are all 
remarkably good, 
and the whole is 
what I deem to 
be worthy of re- 

From here I 
enter one of the 
State drawing- 
rooms, which has 
a ceiling in cream 
and gold, walls 
hung in crimson, 
and window and 
door hangings in 
gold and cream, 
with furniture of 
the same. On 

(A Gulden* Wed ding Fiwnl ' 

there, and in one 

corner stands a 
very large and 
valuable Dresden 
vase; also a wed- 
ding present. 

One other room 
I must mention, 
known as the 
Rose, This has 
some fine paint- 
ings in the ceiling 
in representation 
of the feasts of 
Bacchus, and 
musical celebra- 
tions. On the 
walls are some 
valuable old 
paintings, some 
of which were 
brought from the 
Palace on the 
occasion of the 
last fire there. 
Torn down 
hastily, with 
neither time nor 
opportunity to 
remove the mas- 
sive frames in 
which they were 
encased, the 
canvases only 

the walls are some very beautiful tapestry were saved, hence their somewhat remark- 
paintings. At one end of the room hangs a able appearance of being stretched on 
fine painting depicting the Ring watching the ordinary deal, instead of the handsome gold 
embarkation of the troops ; and over each carving one expects to see* One of these 
handsomely cur- 
tained doorway are 
panels with painted 
centres and gold 
carved outlines. I 
note two very 
costly cabinets in 
pebble relief; 
some ormolu and 
marble tables, and 
one or two with 
plush tops ; on 
one of which 
stands a golden 
horn , one of the 
before - mentioned 
Jubilee presenta- 
t i o n s. Some 
Sfevres china is 
scattered here and ?**&. bv 


'SBWV^MICHIGAN (*-****■ 



From a Ffaoto, by 

paintings is very largL% and shows a former 
King and Queen seated on the throne chairs, 
with the silver lions in front, all of which may 

now be seen at the 
Palace of Rosen- 

We hear very 
much of Fredens- 
borg, the favourite 
summer residence 
of their Majesties, 
situated in a mag- 
nificent park some 
few miles from the 
city, so must pay a 
brief visit to the 
same. Here, every 
autumn, the entire 
family are wont to 
gather, going from 
England, Russia, 
Greece, etc., to 
meet and spend a 
few happy weeks 
in an unconven^ 
tional manner; 
putting on one 
side all State duties 
and cares, par- 
taking in all man- 
ner of outdoor exercises, and enjoying to the 
full all the ordinary indoor amusements of a 
happy family party. Just now 11 Fredensborg 

From a thvto. by J 

VoL viiL— 33, 

y *BBP»@0§?teK 



[.Siren .frC-^ 



From n Photo, b\r\ 


is dressed in brown holland, and but little 
can be seen of the many beautiful things 
contained in its rooms j but everywhere are 
evidences of thoughtful affection from various 
members of this large and united family. 
Here is the Library, well stocked with a 
careful and valuable selection from the best 
authors, past and present, a photograph of 
which room I am able to furnish you with, 
having also the additional value of showing 
the King and Queen standing at a table in 
the centre, looking at a favourite book. 
Here, too, is Her Majesty's boudoir, crowded 
with portraits of children, grandchildren, and 
great-grandchildren, and curios and articles 
dear for their associations, sent from many 
countries. Here you will observe the central 
figures of Her Majesty the Queen, the 
Czarina of Russia, and Her Royal Highness 
the Princess of Wales. Other portraits of 
the family I am also able to include in this 
article by special permission. 

There is another and a 
third Palace, which the 
King permits me to see 
and photograph — Rosen- 
borg Castle — to which we 
proceed the next day. It 
is, perhaps, the most in- 
teresting of all the Palaces 
which I had the pleasure 
of exploring ; dating back 
as far as 1604, founded by 
King Christian IV., built 
in the Dutch Renaissance 
style, under the architecture 
of Inigo Jones. At that 
time it wa.s really outside 
the city, and so had its own 
fortification and moats ; 
but subsequently these 
were extended so as to 
inclose it 

It certainly is the most 
historical building in Co- 
pen ha gen. Entering by a 
curious old gateway, you 
are directly faced by the 
Castle. Pass on through 
an archway, and up a flight 
of steps, and you are inside 
a quaint old corridor, 
crowded with curios of 
all descriptions, 

leaving here by a door- 
way at one end, we enter 
direct into the Audience 
Chamber: this being paved 
with marble, the walls are 
finely panelled in oak, with a number of 
oaken Ionic pilasters to support the ceiling — 
these pilasters, as well as the spaces between, 
being adorned with choice paintings, A 
huge, old-fashioned chimney-piece is built at 
one end, composed of marble and sandstone, 
and from the ceiling depends a large brass 
chandelier. In glass cases may be seen the 
coronation dress of Christian IV, and his 
mantle of the Order of the darter, and some 
parts of the suit he was wearing when wounded 
at the battle of Fehmem, in 1644, together 
with two curious relics of the battle, consist- 
ing of two tiny gold hands holding bits of metal 
by which he was wounded : these it is said 
were worn as ear-rings by one of his daughters 
in memory of the battle. There is a good 
and interesting collection of armour, swords, 
pistols, knives, and guns; some of the former 
being very costly ; a very beautiful ebony 
cabinet, ornanietifc-ti with some richly en- 

&* ved M*te$mF^\mto\i a Stras - 

I Si&n A} Co. 



f->9M a Fiititry. JiyJ 

bourg dock with musical work and movable 
figures, an antique iron-bound chest, a large 
bronze bust of Christian IV,, and several 
portraits and pictures are all worth studying. 
Judging by two of these pictures, Christian 
IV. was much given to dreams, and also 
much given to having them perpetuated, 
for one represents a dream he had the 
night before the battle of Listerdyb, and the 

other, called the "Derision of the 
Redeemer/' represents a dream he 
had at Rothenburg in 1625, 

Next we enter the King's Study, 
also panelled in oak, the panels still 
faintly showing the original Japanese 
decorations. The ceiling is richly 
decorated in plaster relief, showing 
exquisite representations of fruit and 
flowers, with rich tracery of leaves ; 
it also shows panels of mythological 
paintings. In a prominent position 
in the room stands the King's writing- 
table, on it being laid a documen- 
tary production bearing date 1633, 
in his own writing, a writing so 
wonderfully legible that it would 
be no discredit to a nineteenth 
century scholar. In front of the 
table stands the chair His Majesty 
usually occupied* Another pro- 
minent object in the room is a 
fountain in silver and ebony, 6ft. 
high ; in the King's time used for 
perfumed water. It rests upon a 
Ijase of ebony, which is beautifully 
adorned with silver. This was made at 
Halle, and was the property of Queen Anne 

Next comes the Council Chamber of 
Christian V. This monarch was the first 
hereditary King, ascending the throne in 
1670, reigning for nearly thirty years. In 
his apartments may be seen evidences of the 
warlike training imparted to him by his 

\fjunn t t: Slriart. 





From <l Phot's. lu] CHRISTIAN IV.'s STUDY — ftO^EN&ORG. 

father ; his very playthings consisting of arms 
and arm our , and small cannon. There is 
also a large collection which the King had 
used in actual warfare, both on sea and land, 
A small anchor, which is reported to have 
saved his life in a storm at sea, is suspended 
on the wall near the fireplace ; this seems to 
have been formerly invested with some super- 
natural charms. Warrior as he was, he must 
also have been the possessor of a large amount 
of vanity,, as I find several cases crowded 
with suits of the 
richest material 
handsomely em- 
broidered in gold, 
and studded with 
precious stones ; 
also a collection 
of swords of un- 
usual beauty and 

Various paintings 
of himself and his 
Queen adorn the 
red haute-Iisse 
tapestry of the 
walls, The Danish 
connection with 
the English Royal 
Family is here 
shown by a por- 
trait of Prince 
George, husband 
of Queen Anne of 
England, and 
brother of the 
Kiny of whom I 

am now speaking. Like Chris- 
tian IV,, he does not appear 
to have been famous for his 
beauty, but was, however, also 
distinguished for the same 
beautiful penmanship, shown by 
some political papers written 
by himself, placed in a case on 
one of the tables in the room. 
The ceiling of this room is well 
worth notice^ the centre paint- 
ing representing an orchestra, 
the surrounding ones consisting 
of dancing geniL Several very 
choice cabinets contain a unique 
collection of ivory, glass, china, 
silver, and gold curios, and >n 
various directions of the room 
are some very costly mosaic 
cabinets and tables, too 
numerous for detailed mention. 
The Marble Hall is also 
descriptive of the reign of Christian V. 
The first thing which strikes one on 
entering this apartment is the very un- 
common and beautiful ceiling. Christian, 
if you remember, was contemporary of 
Louis XIV, The decorations and furniture of 
that period were costly to an unusual degree. 
This ceiling is as fine an example as could 
well be imagined. It is in stucco, with 
figures in rococo, with painted panels; some 
of which show the Royal crown and family 

Gfjim* it Siuart. 


[Gii*« **■ Stuart 



Ffoni a PA&to. bv\ 


fG"«»H *t Stuart. 

arms. The whole is supported by numerous 
marble Corinthian pilasters, the walls being of 
the same costly material. The furniture and 
decorations are in the character of the period, 
and evidently the 
most costly that 
could be obtained: 
ebony cabinets, 
Florentine mosaic 
tables, and richly 
embroidered and 
carved furniture, 
all of them seek- 
ing, as it were, to 
outvie each other 
in splendour. 
Quantities of 
drinking horns 
and goblet s t typical 
of remote periods, 
are found in nearly 
every room of the 
Castle, This 
apartment has no 
exception, these 
perhaps being 
more richly orna- 
mented than are 
those which were 
the property of 

some of the monarchs. Another feature of 
this room is the selection of very beautiful 
ivory carvings and figure-heads. In glass 
cabinets may be also seen the garments, 

Fnm n Photo, bg\ I 

rw» Rosi-Owgiwai-from 

[tfnnn d 



swords, and walking-sticks of the King* Also 
is here shown the famous " Wismar " cup, 
peculiarly wrought and composed of pure 
crystal. It is said to be the finest example 
of its kind to be found in Europe. 

We now proceed by a winding staircase to 
an apartment called the Rose, which really 
combines the times of Christian V. and 
Frederick IV. f although appertaining more 
especially to the latter. The walls are hung 
with Italian tapestry of the best Florentine 
workmanship, brought from Italy by Frede- 
rick IV, in 1709, The chair and table 

oak* A beautiful rock-crystal chandelier 
depends from the centre of the ceiling, A 
large number of paintings of the Royal 
Family, together with several busts, are here 
displayed ; also a painting of the Famous 
Swedish General Magnus Stenbock, painted 
by himself for presentation to the King, A 
water-colour of very fine execution shows 
the coronation of Frederick IV. and Queen 
Louise (whose ante-chamber this was) in 
Frederiksborg Castle, and still another one 
showing the funeral of Frederick IV. I 
have called your attention to several very 

From a Photo, by) 


[Gvx* *t Stuart 

shown in the accompanying illustration are 
of beautifully wrought silver: they were a 
birthday present to Frederick IV. from 
the lady who afterwards became his Queen, 
and were always used by him at the opening 
of the Session of the Highest Court of 
Appeal, The illustration also shows two 
marble busts of the King and Queen, by 
Jost Wiedewelt. 

We now enter the ante-chamber of the 
Princess. The ceiling of this room shows 
some fine painted wooden panels. The walls 
are hung in woven woollen tapestry of fruit 
and floral designs. The floor is of polished 

beautiful mosaic tables in various rooms of 
the Castle, hut here is one which is perhaps 
more remarkable than any. It is said that 
it took four skilful men thirty years to 
complete it. It was presented to Frede- 
rick IV. in 1709 by the Grand Duke 
of Toseany, 

What is known as the larger Room of 
Christian VI. has a ceiling painting by 
Coffre, representing " Flora Scattering Her 
Abundance Over Denmark." The walls 
are hung in haute-lisse tapestry, the floor 
being parquetry* Here you will notice a 
good ^tfe^^^^,^ of native 



^mfl Photo, bjf] 


manufacture, some Saxon, the most costly 
being Japanese. In the windows are some 
models of battle-ships of the line, made of 
pearl, tortoise-shell, and amber* In one of 
the cabinets is placed the King's diary, 
nearly all in his own handwriting, and 
several articles which show the King's 
strong mechanical tendency — one being a 
box having thereon an amber rose turned by 
the King himself, and another a box of 
ivory entirely his own make. There is also a 
catalogue in the Queen's own handwriting, 
giving a full list of the jewels which belong to 
her. The love of the Queen Sophia 
for hunting is shown by the presence 
of stags' antlers and her hunting 
gun. There is also a turning-lathe, 
the property of the Queen, showing 
indications of having been much 
used. In the very centre of the 
room stands a washing- tabic with 
delf surface, upon which stands an 
antique glass wine cask. I had 
previously seen several remarkable 
cabinets, but one which I noticed 
in this room is of a most unusual 
type, both for shape and construc- 
tion. It contains a beautiful peal 
of bells, and, as is customary, a 
large number of secret drawers, also 
some painted panels on the front. 
It was made by Lehmann, the 
Court joiner. On either side of 
this hang fine painted portraits of 
the King and Queen. Underneath, y mmt i rhau>. b ¥ \ 

some good minia- 
tures and some 
antique chairs 
covered in tapes- 

Entering the 
room of Frederick 
V., we notice first 
of all the very 
beautiful Floren- 
tine gold and 
velvet tapestry on 
the walls. It, of 
course, shows signs 
of wear, but must 
originally have 
been of exquisite 
beauty. An 
amber chandelier, 
by Lorenz Spen- 
gler, hangs from 
the panelled ceil- 
ing, immediately 
under which stands 
a marble-topped, burnished wood writing- 
table, formerly used by Queen Caroline 
Mn tilde, this having placed thereon an 
extremely precious lace collar which had 
been worn by Queen Louise. Various 
paintings and water-colours of the Royal 
Family, and of several officers in the 
Danish service, as well as some allegorical 
pictures, adorn the walls. In two or three 
glass cabinets is a collection of various 
objects in ivory, many of them made by 
the Princess of the then reigning family ; 
others by the maker of the chandelier. The 

j titan* ri r Stuart 



, 'Vdi'i ■' titwart* 



his two daughters, which we 
here reproduce. The painter 
was Eckersberg. Several 
other paintings of this 
monarch and his family are 
in various parts of the room, 
all of which is furnished in 
First Empire style. 

This Schloss and its con- 
tents are so interesting, that 
I seem to have lingered 
almost indefinitely in their 
inspection, but the finish 
of this is the finish of my 
mission — as far as Palaces 
are concerned. During my 
stay I have met with much 
courteous kindness from 
the King's Private Secre- 
tary, and from the Master 
of the Ceremonies and 
other officials ; also, I have 
had the opportunity of con- 
versation with His High- 
ness the Prince of Siam, 
who is an Attache to the 



Pmm a Photo, frf Gum & Stuart. 

wedding dress of Frederick V., with 
other rich attire, and some hand- 
somely mounted gold pistols are also 
shown, together with a fine collec- 
tion of enamelled boxes, one of 
which belonged to Catherine IL 
of Russia, It has a Roman mosaic 
lid, the design being the capitoline 
doves. Some of Frederick's orders 
are also here on view ; one, the 
Russian Order of St Andrew, in 
brilliants ; and another, the Danish 
Order of the Elephant, in sapphires, 
rubies, and diamonds. Dresden 
china, together with that of native 
manufacture, a costly gold coffee 
service, and some fine crystal goblets, 
are a few other objects worthy of 
mention. One other curio must not 
be omitted : an article in monu- 
mental form, composed of ivory and 
lapis lazuli, made by Spengler, in 
commemoration of the Jubilee of the 

doing from this apartment, we 
proceed at once to that of his son, 
Frederick VL Facing the entrance 
to his room you find a very fine , 
painting of himself, his Queen, and 



and i:wh,im:i:^ 





ftvm a Photo, &y) 


\ftruftf IiiiH*-n 1 r '<./*■ piAaptfl- 

CourL His father, the King, has been amongst 
us and is known favourably to us. The Prince 
has been educated in England, and speaks 
of it and its institutions in tones of warmest 
regard. When, in conversing on literature, 
he tells me that he is a subscriber to and 

highly regards The Strand Magazine, I 
think perhaps my readers would be interested 
in his photograph; and as he is so connected 
with the Court which I have been visiting, I 
ask and obtain the favour of a special 

t-'nim a 1'hnta. by] 


. . fp'.-.nn & Stuart 

Original from 

Vol, viiL- -34, 


Distinguished Women and their Dolts. 

By Frances H, Low. 

\\V* handsome volume that, 
under the title of " Queen 
Victoria's Dolls," makes its 
appearance this month, with 
the gracious approval of Her 
Majesty, will call to the mind 
of many mature doll-lovers a host of happy 
childish recollections, in which a beloved 
wooden puppet was the central figure of 
the nursery drama. And, notwithstand- 
ing a recently-expressed masculine opinion, 
that little girls ought to be 
discouraged from placing 
their affections on inani- 
mate wooden and wax 
objects, it is safe to predict 
that this fondness will con- 
tinue to remain as deep 
and perennial an instinct 
as that of maternal love 
itself, of which, indeed, it 
is a touching premonition. 
Those who are disposed 
to regard the pleasures, 
and passions, and play of a 
child as unimportant and 
unprofitable will have 
neither concern nor in- 
terest in this article* 
But there are others, youthful by right of 
freshness of spirit, who will read about the 
early tastes, affections, and playthings of dis- 
tinguished women with an eagerness that is 
as wholesome as it is innocent, 

The Empress Frederick, like Her Majesty, 
was exceedingly fond of dolls. Count Secken- 
dorff says she was very fond of working their 
clothes. Here is his letter : — 

"When a child, the Empress Frederick was 
exceedingly fond of dolls and of working 
their clothes — especially for small ones — and 
of arranging a doll's house and of putting 
them in. As a tiny child 
the Empress Frederick 
was devoted to dolls, 
and fonder of playing 
with them than many 
a little girl. Of the 
Empress's daughters, 
some were also very 
fond of dolls." 


Ffrun a Phctit. h$ (Jtinii <£ Stuart, Hiehiwuul. 

The Empress, as is well known, is a devoted 
mother ; and one can well picture that her 
little doll-household was a very orderly one, 
carefully and systematically looked after. 
Early habits exercise an enormous influence 
over our lives ; and who can doubt that the 
little girl who keeps her dolls clean, learns 
how to wash, and tend, and dress them with 
taste, is learning lessons which will stand 
her in good stead when she reaches 
motherhood ? 

The doll owned as a 
child by Mrs. Keeley, the 
veteran actress, was a mas- 
sive wooden creature, 
which did not even possess 
the conventional number 
of limbs ; but that it held 
a place in her affection and 
memory is clear from her 
delightful* letter, which is 
printed below :— 

"To quote Ashby 
Sterry :— 
I thought I'J lone with dolls 

some years ago ; 
I've put away the dolls of child- 
hood's age, 
I've bid good-bye to puppets of 
the slai;e. 

And yet you ask me in my eighty-seventh 
year to remember the dolls of my childhood. 
Well, I'll try, but fear the description will be 
very uninteresting. I never had but one doll, 
a great, heavy, wooden doll : no stuffings no 
nice, soft leather arms and legs. No ! its 
limbs were strongly wedged, and pegged into 
its body— it was so big and heavy, I could 
scarcely drag it about (I was four years old 
only); its name was ' Lummox.' It was a 
nuisance to everybody in the house, and one 
unlucky day I let it fall upon my mother's 
foot, and in her pain and anger she put it on 




the kitchen 
f i r e j and 
there was 
an end of 
1 Lummox. 1 
As near as 
I can re- 
member, the 
inclosed is 
a faithful 
port rait — 
Mary Anne 

Frtttu a i'fcrfu, h? Kiliuii tt Fry. 


No contribution will be read with more 
interest than that which has been sent by 
Lady Martin, whose sweet and noble persona- 
tions of many of the greatest women in Shake- 
speare's gallery remain still in the memory of 
older playgoers, and are little likely to be 
effaced by any modern actress : — 

"You touch me upon a tender point when 
you ask about the dolls of my childhood. 




y£*€**£r jkrfr* 

She is now advancing towards the sweet 
young lady period, but some four or five 
years ago I said to her, rather regretfully, 
* Hester, I have never given you a doll 1 * I 
am very glad,* she responded ; and, with a 
naive air of weariness, added, £ I have a 
whole shelf full of them upstairs/ I had one 
young playfellow who shared my passion for 
dolls. We used to make stories about them. 
Some had good dispositions, some bad, and 
with the latter we had much trouble. Then 
the adventures they passed through ! At 
times they were stolen by gipsies, then by 
robbers ; were the i babes in the 
wood ' — every tale we read they 
had to realize. We had a boy doll 
who was the very counterpart of 
Aladdin, and, oh, the tricks he 
played us ! In one of my letters 
on * Shakespeare's Women,' I tell 
of the pleasure it gave me when 
grown up to see the stall of lovely dolls 
at the Soho Bazaar— and, lo ! to behold one 
dressed in a costume ' such as worn by Miss 
Helen Faucit' in a play then acting This 
was a surprise and a joy nearly as great as 
tlie possession of a new doll used to be. 
You ask what sort of dolls I was fondest of 
Large waxen dolls were my greatest admira 
tion, but the humbler kind had their place 
in my regard, and helped 
to play their parts as 

4&**l F ^<4~-' 


etc. As for the 


They engrossed a large share of my thoughts 
and my affection. The throb of joy with 
which a new doll was received into my arms, 
or the pitying interest with which a very old 
one was regarded, I can never forget The 
earliest act of pure self-denial I can remember 
was when I surrendered my sweetest, newest 
doll, one possessed of excellent qualities — for 
dolls varied in these — to a poor young cousin 
who had lately lost her mother. I fear I 
inwardly bewailed this act of self-sacrifice 
when I found afterwards my favourite was 
thrown aside— neglected ! Some girls have 
no liking, no feeling, for dolls. They like 
their pretty faces at first, but can see nothing 
in tkem % and thus soon grow tired of them, 
I had a proof of this in my godchild, Hester 
Helena Makepeace Thackeray Ritchie (I had 
to think well over this string of names before 
repeating them over the baby at the font). 

eyes and hair of my waxen 
beauties, they might be 
of the colour the doll- 
maker chose to make 
thenij so long as the eyes 
were large and rounds and 
could open and shut, and the hair abundant. 
The tow colour, which has prevailed so long 
for the hair, was not then in fashion. I 
think I have pretty fairly answered the ques- 
tions you have asked rne T and 


yours truly, Helena 

am, dear 

The god-child referred to is the child of 
Mrs* Ritchie, who, as is well known, is herself 
a daughter of Thackeray, and is perhaps 
the most exquisitely feminine woman writer 
of the day. Mrs, Ritchie was very much 
attached to dolls, so that it is curious that her 
little daughter should have had no love for 
them ; though, perhaps, the reason is to be 
found in the child's answer, that she had a 
wh^jpj^ft 1 |f^l,-qf rtKfllQWirs 



But to return to Helen Faucit. Is not 
something of the imaginativeness of the 
great actress to be discerned in the little girl, 
who made *' stories about her dolls," invested 
them with good and evil dispositions, and 
placed them in all sorts of situations and 
Lid ventures? 

Where is the lover of Thackeray who does 
not want to hear all about the childish 
pleasures of his much-loved little girl ? Mrs. 
Ritchie's pen is ever graceful, and her letter 
needs no comment of mine : — 

" Would that one of my dolls had ever 




O^ue ct^> 


survived to be included in such courtly 
company ! They all came to violent ends, 
and caused me so much sorrow that, at the 
comparatively early age of four, I determined 
to have nothing more to do with them. I 
used to tie their heads on with stringj and 
not look for two days ; but it was no use : 
they never grew again, I loved my sisters' 
dolls as if they were my nieces long after 1 
had given up any more direct affection ; and 
now, quite late in life, I had just begun to 
be really in sympathy with my grand-child- 
ren's dollies, when my own little girl sud- 
denly ceased to take an interest in them, 
and I found my own somewhat flagged. I 
.shall look out with much interest for your 
article. It 
is a most 
idea, and 

ful days, her tastes and thoughts inclined to 
the subject of marriage : and her amusing 
confessions show us that little Miss Mona 
w r as an observant, shrewd child, whose clear 
eyes were incessantly watching the drama of 
life that was being played beneath them. 

11 1 have no dolls extant — at least, none 
that could be got at now, I don't think there 
are any other details; the only thing that occurs 
to me is that in my dolls' house family, the 
two elder daughters, * Augusta r and * Emily,' 
were always receiving proposals of marriage 
from their neighbour, Mr, Smith, a wealthy 

bachelor in blue serge 
and a red tie, with 
black china eyes, and 
an exquisite com- 
plexion. The sisters 
always discussed these 
proposals in a truly 
business spirit, taking 
into consideration Mr, 
Smith's house and 
property, his roach 
and four (about one- 
fifth his own size), and 
other attractions of a 
worldly sort to induce 
an alliance. I pre- 
sume these did not 
satisfy the ambition 
of the sisters, who 
remained always at home, to the grief of the 
younger members of the family, over whom 


me, truly 

A N N E 


Mrs. Mona Caird's letter is particularly 
interesting, as showing how, even in her youth- 


From a 1'hittu. ly H. Mtndsluohn. 

they ty ran n ized . M r. S m i tlvs affect i on s sec med 
to oscillate in pendulum fashion from one 

sister tpfltegtim tjtf $fetlf<&H res "P re ^ d 



no preference of any kind. All this was re- 
produced from life in unconscious satire — 
indeed, the whole history of that dolls' house 
and its family — with the pompous parents, 
the ambitious elder daughters, the innumer- 
able younger ones ; with the servants, visitors, 
and relations — photographed pretty exactly 
the impressions which the work of grown-up 
people was making upon my mind at the 
time. The picture was not very flattering to 
my neighbours. — I remain, yours truly, 
Mona Caird." 

If we are justified in looking upon a little 
girl's affection for her doll as a sure promise 
of the maternal affection which she will after- 
wards show her offspring, then this instinct is 
by no means an insignificant one; and it 
should be a source of satisfaction to those 
who regard true motherhood as something 
infinitely high and precious, to learn that 
nearly all the celebrated women who have 
responded to my inquiries have cherished 
a passionate, and at times almost human, 
affection for their dolls. Miss Jean Ingelow, 
one of the sweetest of our modern singers, 
whose beautiful little poem, " When Sparrows 
Build," will remain in our memories so long 
as we remember anything, writes : — 

" Dolls in my infancy were not my chief 
treasures — I preferred a Noah's ark or picture- 
book. The first doll for which I felt a real 
and deep affection was my doll i Amelia,' 

was generally arrayed in a beautiful cloak* 
which had been made for her by our old 
cook. It was of purple silk, and had a white 
silk lining, was not unlike the long cloaks of 
the present day, was drawn in at the back, 
and had some real gores. With this, ' Amelia ' 
wore a hat with a very large red rose in it. 
When she came in, her cloak was duly folded 
up and laid in her drawers. * Amelia ' had 
several beautiful frocks with sleeves ; her 
underclothing, as a rule, was devoid of 
these appendages, for I made it myself, 
and could not manage to put them in. 
You ask what sort of doll I liked best — such 
dolls as i Amelia.' There were several Dutch 
dolls in the nursery. They were common 
property, and were called ' it,' but the wax 
dolls were 'she.' However, a wooden doll 
has one advantage over all others — this — that 
you can put it into a doll's bath and tfash it 
with real soap and water. When an in- 
teresting game was going on in the nursery, 
the dolls were set in a row on a chest of 
drawers that they might see it, for, of 
course, it must be dull to be shut up in 
1 the play closet ' while other people are 
enjoying themselves. The Dutch dolls 
also were allowed to look on, but in 
my opinion a wooden doll — even one with 
joints— is not capable of attracting real love. 
But the life of dolls almost always ends in a 
catastrophe. When I had adored ' Amelia ' 
for a long time, we once went out for a long 
walk and took the wax dolls with Us, and 
baskets, for we were to gather buttercups 
and purple orchis. In course of time we 
came to a small, clear pond. The tempta- 
tion was great We let ourselves be left 


whom I had when I was about seven years 
old. I was taken to a shop that I might 
choose her myself, and pay for her with my 
own half-crown. She had a pair of kid 
shoes, flaxen hair, and smiling blue eyes. I 
had a little chest of mahogany drawers to 
hold her clothes, for I need hardly say that 
they would take off. Some of them (and I 
remember them all to this day) were of my 
own concoction. The first thing I made for 
her was a white petticoat which had a 
real button and button-hole in the band. 
When c Amelia ' was taken out for a walk she 

behind, and before we were found out we had 
undressed the two wax dolls and dipped them 
in. Alas ! they were carried home dripping 
in one of the baskets. They were set up in a 
high cupboard to dry — they did not dry, but 
shortly after they disappeared. My next doll 
had black eyes like beads — she inherited all 
my dear * Amelia's ' clothes, even to the purple 
cloak and hat — but I could not (as it were) 
find out her name, and I changed it several 
times before one could be fixed upon. This 
is a very bad sign. Eventually her name 
was f Prisefila.' But nothing signified ; I 



had found out by this time that ' Simple 
Susan ' and many other sweet old stories, 
both in prose and verse, were very delightful 
reading. That I read them over and over till 
1 knew them by heart was nothing to 
1 Priscilla' ; I liked them just the same,, and 
did not love her. The reign of the dolls 
was oven — I am, very truly yours, Jean 

Miss Ingelow's letter will go straight to 
the heart of every little girl who loves her 
wooden family, and who has healthy, ruthless 
brothers. For what could be truer than 
that pathetic sentence, " the life of dolls 
almost always ends in a catastrophe n ? The 
poetess might with truth have added, that 
where there are boys, the life of a doll is 
almost a tragedy, ending in violence. For 
boys are the natural enemies of the doll 
race (in spite of their having a sneaking love 
for the despised creature)^ and the instinct 
to destroy, and damage, and utterly exter- 
minate them -is as strong in their breasts as 
is that of cherishing them in the hearts of 
their sisters. 

Mrs, Fawcett, who is generally regarded 
as the typical woman who unites masculine 
intellect with feminine charm, says : — 

"I adored dolls, and had many whose 
lovely features and fascinating frocks, beds, 
etc,, I can still vividly recall I don't think 
dolls exactly awoke the maternal feeling in 
me j because I remember, when I once had 
the misfortune to break my sister's doll, I 
thought honour and honesty, and everything 
else, compelled me to offer to give her 
mine in exchange and compensation- 1 

don't think this was maternal ; but I well 
remember the anguish of making the offer, 
and the wild, incredulous joy with which 
I heard my sister decline it. I thought her 
the most nobly generous creature in the 
world, and could not picture myself being 
offered my doll and saying ( No + ' My 
favourite dolls were of moderate size, about 
in the same proportion to my size as a baby 
is to a woman's. I had one enormous doll, 
but I looked upon her as an inferior being — 
of coarser mould. She was so big that her 
shoes had to be made by a shoemaker. We 

gave great con- 
sideration to the 
choice of her 
name, and finally 
selected 'Beren- 
garia, J because 
that had also a 
gigantic flavour. 
But my best- 
beloved dolls 
had more homely 
names : * Grace,' 
'Amy/ * Louie, 1 
etc, — Yours very 
faithfully, M, G. 
Fawcett. 1 ' 


From a Jftoto^ b§ Jt'ofarp. 

Miss Philippa Fawcett, who has dis- 
tinguished herself in mathematics, shared her 
mother's partiality in this respect ; and she 
adored, and affectionately cared for, two huge 
dolls, called u Dover"and "Calais, "which were 
brought from the Paris Exhibition, It will 
be news to a good many people, that it 
was little Fhilippa Fawcett who really uttered 

the words which 


Original from 



Punch has since 
made famous. 
The little girl 
was playing with 
her doll one 
evening, when 
some visitors 
were announced, 
and she was told 
to run away and 
take the doll ; 
whereupon she 
said, reproach- 
fully, and almost 
tearfully: « Oh ! 
don't speak so 
I try as 



Ftvm a PkcttcK by Qittfe, Salisbury. 

hard as I can to pre- 
vent her finding out 
she is only a doll !" 

Mrs. Stanley, the 
artist, and the wife 
of the great traveller, 
writes : — 

"I have such 
happy recollect i oils 
of my doll-days that I 
most readily answer 
your questions, I 
played with dolls 
till I was fourteen 
or more. My sister, Mrs, Frederick Myers, 
and I had two distinct tribes of dolls : 
dolls which we carried about and cared for 
in quite a maternal way, and dolls we played 
with, as I shall afterwards describe. Our 
doll from the age cf seven to nine was a 
lambskin. We tied one end round into a 
ball for the head, and dressed the long, folded 
end in long clothes. We combed and parted 
the wool for the hair, and always saw in the 
featureless, woolly face the sweetest, most 
innocent and infantine express ion, *Tobina,' 
the lambskin baby, belonged to me alternate 
days. She was mine on Monday, my sister's 
on Tuesday, etc. I was fond also of a heavy 
armful of a doll. I dressed up a long, hard 
sofa bolster, painted a face on linen, and tied 
it round the upper part, and sewed on the top 
a wig we had for private theatricals. This 
doll, * Charlie, ' was very sturdy and heavy, 
and might be called a realistic sort of doll 
We cared much more for our dolls than 
children, as a rule, seem to do. We always 
put them to bed, and on cold nights gave 
them additional wraps. We considered these 
senseless playthings alive and human — we 
endowed them with characters, we made them 
speak with certain intonations, so that my 
sister could recognise which of my dolls was 
speaking. But the real interest and occupa- 
tion of those * laughing days J was making 
our paper doll family. 
We began their manu- 
facture at three years 
old, and continued till 
our teens. My sister 
and I, we each had a 
family consisting of a 
mother and thirteen 
children. These were 
drawn and coloured 
on stiff paper, and 
carefully cut out : the 
adults measuring 
about three inches, 

the children varying according to age. 
Each child had its particular cast of features, 
expression, and colouring. Of course, the 
family lived in a well-appointed dolls' house. 
As the paper dolls got torn, or soiled, or 
crumpled, two hours daily were spent in re- 
novating the family. We were always careful 
to keep the likeness, so that each member 
was recognisable, though attired in some new 
dress* As we grew older we drew better, and 
turned out some creditable little specimens. 
We had a special box for the family in even- 
ing dress ; so that, an invitation coming 
suddenly, our dolls were always ready to 
appear in fashionable attire. We also had a 
supply in walking-dress, hats, cloaks, muffs, 
and tippets. There was even a reserve in 


Prrnn a Photo, bv Mrt, Mrtttr t Cnmbridffr.. 

bathing costume when the family went down 
to the seaside {a soup-plate of water), but 
they could never remain long in the water, 
the colour coming off and the dolls becoming 
pulpy if too long immersed. Making our 
dolls was a never-ending amusement, 
and taught us to draw and paint 


Q-CfroAtrt tot £?<i$y faodrfoaaoeCL 

3. a Original from 






long before we could 
read or write. Our atti- 
tude towards these paper 
dolls was that of a gentle 
Providence. We ordered 
their lives, we gave them 
mimic joys and sorrows, 
and they afforded us 
most absorbing enter- 
tainment. But, of course, 
we did not feel for them 
the same love and solici- 
tude we felt for the big, 
portable dolls. I re- 
member thinking after 
the thiiteenth christen- ^f j** 
ing of the paper family, -^^~^^^ 
that for a change we j? 

really ought to have a 

funeral ; but that event was postponed by my 
sister, who said she did not feel up to the effort 
of mourning, that the family grief would neces- 
sitate playing in a minor key, and that all the 
dolls would have to be repainted— at once — 
in black. So there was a betrothal instead — 
a big ball — and afterwards the marriage was 
broken off. E%'en to this 
very day, my sister and I 
sometimes talk over the 
families, and wonder 
what has become of 
1 Joshua, 1 the elder 
daughter, or her cousin 
1 Moggie/ and we won- 
der whether * Tommy ' 
ever got into the army 
after all, considering how 
very backward he was 
as a small paper boy in 
a very bright Scotch kilt. 
I am, however 3 going 
beyond the bounds, and answering too much 
in detail the questions you put to me— but 
I have not invented anything ; dolls' lives 
and our lives were interwoven. We hardly 
ever did lessons. We played nearly the 
whole day, and we were happy from the 
moment we opened our eyes till we closed 
them at night. — Yours truly, Dorothy 

^-3*-^ St^^^ 


Frutna Phutu. by+Stfr^iy. jY«w 1'orfc, 

There is some- 
thing pathetic 
about Madame Al- 
bania childhood. 
She says : — 

" I am sorry to 
say that I can give 
you but very little 
information about 
dolls, as my 



acquaintance with them has been of the 
slightest, I began to study music before I 
was four years of age, and I was obliged to 
give up so much time to it that there was 
none left for playthings. My harp and piano 
were my dolls, and I actually never possessed 
a real one all my life, I believe they are 
most interesting creatures to most little 
girls, but I was never able to study them 
sufficiently to be of any service to you now, 
— Believe me, very faithfully yours s M. 
Albani Gye. ,j 

Miss Braddon (Mrs, Maxwell) was more 
fortunate. She says: — 

" I was passionately fond of dolls from my 
earliest recollection of anything in the way 
of a plaything, and I played with them, 
dresscd^f Vffr^l ^ppflt^^^M IflffB 1 - and made 



believe about them until I was in my teens. 
Dolls and dolls' houses were my dream of 
bliss, and my amusement alternated between 
literary composition and dolls' dressmaking. 
The only rival for the doll in my affection 
was a toy theatre. — Believe me, very truly 
yours, Marv Maxwell," 

I should like to digress for a moment here, 
and call the attention of readers who have no 
remembrance of the dolls of forty or fifty 
years ago to the accompanying illustration* 
This group of dolls (kindly lent by Miss 
Ethel Thurston) were dressed nearly half a 
century ago. At that time dressed dolls were 
not in the market ; and the notion of 
dressing them as babies and children, which 
is the popular one nowadays, had scarcely any 
vogue then* Their toilettes, carried out with 
great elaborateness, are exact reproductions 
of the fashionable Court dress of the period. 
One of the dolls represents the Duchess of 
Kent, and wears a full white satin skirt, 
tastefully trimmed with pink roses and 
ruchings of narrow white ribbon, and a 
long bodice sewn with beads, over which, 
coming into a V in front, is a blue velvet 
outer bodice and long, rounded train, embel- 
lished with gold beads and lined with white 

The male doll in military dress represents 

the Duke of Cambridge; whilst the other, 
in spite of his having something of the air of 
a stage policeman, is meant to be the Prince 
Consort; and in both cases the tailoring is of 
a very superior kind, every detail in the way 
of buttons, orders, belts, and so forth f being 
carried out with accurate realism. 

A few of the ladies 

who have kindly 

responded to my 

inquiry seem to be 

€^Z<4A^f exceptions to the 

general rule, 
amongst them being 
the Princess of 
Wales ; Miss Fran- 
ces Power Cob be, 
who loved the woods 
and living things better ; Mrs, Bishop, the 
famous .traveller, who had but a moderate 


passion for her doll, " Don 
Quixote"; Miss Jane Harri- 
son, who disliked dolls; 
and Mrs. Sutherland Orr, 
who, curiously enough, con- 
ceived a great fondness for 
dollies as she grew towards 

Vol. viii —36* 


or KEI*T. 

Giants and Dwarfs, 


TORIES of giants and dwarfs 
have come down to us from 
the very earliest times* and the 
most noticeable feature of these 
stories is that the giants get 
bigger and the dwarfs get 
smaller the further back we go for the stories. 
This is not evidence that the crop of wonders 
in these respects has steadily diminished 
through the ages, nor that the human race 
has either degenerated or improved. When 
love of giants and dwarfs is transmitted tra- 
ditionally through many generations, each 
transmitter deducts an inch or two from the 
height of his dwarf and adds it to that of 
his giant ; so that the longer the traditions 
have run the greater the marvels appear. 
Quetelet, indeed, gives an opinion that the 
tallest man whose inches have been authen- 
tically recorded was Frederick the Great's Scot- 
tish giant, who was 8ft. 3m. high — a very pigmy 
compared with many giants of tradition. 
But, as a matter of fact, men 
have lived who were some inches 
above this. The gigantic bones 
which have, from time to time, 
been dug up and held as undis- 
put able evidence of the ancient 
existence of men of enormous 
stature, have long since been 
found not to be human remains 
at all, but relics of great extinct 
animals, mastodons, and so 
fofife* Dwarfs, also, as small, or 
almost as small, as ever actually 
existed, we have probably seen 
in our own times, in the persons 
of the various little u Generals " 
and their ladies, who stand upon 
the exhibitors' hands in adver- 
tisement posters. En passant, 
we may mention that when 
dwarfs were manufactured by 
cruel processes of growth-re- 
straint in old times, the anoint- 
ment of the victim's backbone 
with the grease of moles, bats, 
and dormice was considered a 
very effectual expedient Any- 
body anxious to produce dwarfs 
for the modern show market is 
welcome to the recipe. 

A famous giant in the early 
part of the seventeenth century 
was Walter Parsons, who was 
gate-porter to James J, and 

Digitized by Cp( 

afterwards to Charles, Parsons was a West 
Eromwich man, and was originally a black- 
smith. In his early days, when working 
at this trade, it was found necessary to 
have a hole dug in the smithy near the 
anvil, wherein he might stand, in order to 
be able to work on a level with the other 
men. He was about 7ft. 6in, in height, and 
was altogether a fine man, being propor- 
tionately strong and broad— a thing un- 
commonly met with in men of such extreme 
growth. He was a good-humoured, jolly sort 
pf fellow, with a favourite trick of catching up 
two of the biggest and strongest yeomen of 
the guard, one under each arm, and trotting 
about with them whithersoever he pleased, 
despite their most desperate struggles to get 
free. He was once insulted in a London 
street by a man of ordinary stature, whom he 
smilingly picked up and hung by the breeches- 
band on a high butcher's hook, and then 
walked calmly on, while the crowd con- 


W^Tffl ™*- S ON3Q r jgj na | frOnt 1 * J RFFREV HUUSON, 



Y -5V 

gnttulated his victim in the manner natural 
to a crowd. John Cleveland, the Cavalier 
poet and contemporary of Lovelace, celebrated 
Parsons in a copy of verses printed in the 
rare edition of his posthumous poems and 
epistles published in 1652. Of these a few 
couplets run as follows : — 

Thou moving Coloss, fur whose goodly face 
The Rhine can hardly make a looking-glass ; 
What name or title suits thy greatness, l hen, 
Aid i boron tifuscophornio ? 

Wert thou but sick, what help could e'er be wrought 
Without physicians posting Jow n thy Ihroat ? 

In a contemporary portrait, which we re- 
produce, Parsons is represented with Jeffrey 
Hudson — Sir Jeffrey Hudson, indeed, for he 
was knighted by the King, partly as a joke. 
Jeffrey first appeared in Charles's Court from 
the crust of a pie, wherein, armed with sword 
and buckler, he had been 
concealed by way of 
astonishing and amusing 
the Queen and her ladies 
at his bursting forth upon 
the table. The Queen 
kept him as her page, 
and thenceforth he be- 
came quite a Court 
character, and was even 
trusted by the King with 
certain negotiations 
abroad. Sir Jeffrey's 
growth, such as it was, 
was irregular. At eight 
years of age he was 
eighteen inches high, and 
remained at that stature 
without a shade of in- 
crease till he was thirty. 
At thirty he suddenly 
took to growing afresh, 
and finally attained 3ft. 
gin., and there stopped, 
Hudson was a peppery little fellow, perpetually 
squabbling with the courtiers and the Royal 
servants, and more particularly with Parsons, 
the giant ! Upon one occasion Hudson chal- 
lenged a certain Mr, Crofts to a duel, and 
his opponent appeared on the field derisively 
armed with a squirt Additionally incensed 
by this treatment, Hudson insisted on the 
squirt being exchanged for a pistol, and 
thereupon shot his adversary dead. Sir 
Jeffrey had a life of some adventure, being 
once captured at sea by Dunkirk privateers 
and once by Turks. Moreover, he held a 
captain's commission with the Cavaliers in 
the Civil War. He will be remembered by 
every reader of Scott as a character 
" Peveril of the Peat" 



In 1659, John Worrenburg, a famous dwarf, 
was born at Harlshomen, in Switzerland He 
was exhibited in London in i688andthe follow* 
ing year, and attracted considerable attention, 
his height being only aft 7m, While in 
London his portrait was printed in mezzo- 
tint, and it is from this engraving that our 
illustration is taken. It is recorded that he 
was as stout and strong in his arms and legs 
as a full-grown man — a fact which the squat 
figure of the portrait would seem to confirm. 
Worrenburg met his death by drowning, in 
singular circumstances, in 1695. He was 
usually carried about, like Gulliver, in a box. 
As this box, containing himself, was being 
carried by a porter from a quay at Rotterdam 
over a plank to a ship, the plank broke, and 
porter, dwarf, box and all fell into the river. 
The porter escaped, but 
Worrenburg, confined by 
his box, was drowned. 

A giant who was much 
exhibited in this country 
between the years 17 28 
and 1734 was Maxi- 
milian Christopher Mil- 
ler, who was born at 
Leipsic in 1674, He, like 
Parsons, and unlike so 
many other giants, was 
remarkable for his 
strength as well as for 
his size. 

Hogarth, in his print 
of Southwark Fair, has 
introduced the figure of 
Miller on a show cloth. 
This giant was, in 1 733, 
8ft high. He died in 
the following year, at an 
age (sixty) very rarely 
attained by men of so 
large a growth. He seems to have grown 
somewhat even in the later years of his life, if 
we may trust a London newspaper notice of 
October, 1728 (six years before his death), 
which says : iS On Wednesday last, arrived 
here from Germany a native of that country, 
7ft, Sin. high," So that something must have 
grown 4m, in the last few years of his life— 
either Miller himself or the conscience of 
somebody else. Miller exhibited himself at 
the Blue Post, Charing Cross, at the Fan, 
Devereux Court, and many other places in 
London. At all his public receptions he 
was attired as our portrait {from an authentic 
source) represents him. The sceptre and 
the heavily-joYr ?Iled sword which he carried 




In this gorgeous get-up he paraded before 
his paying admirers with much state and 
dignity, being personally characterized by a 
sentiment usually supposed to be more 
common in small people — a great notion of 
his own importance. His face and head are 
contemporaneously described as being of 
" enormous size t " even for so 
large a person. 

Owen Far r el was born in 
County Cavan, Ireland, and was 
characterized not only by his 
short stature (he was 3ft. gin* 
high when full -grown) but also 
by his amazing strength. He 
could carry four men at once, two 
sitting astride each arm. His build 
was heavy and clumsy, as may 
be judged by his portrait, which 
is from an original painting. 
At first a footman, he was after- 
wards persuaded to make a show 
of himself t hut the show was some- 
how not a financial success. He 

came to London and, being lazy, subsisted 
by begging in the strees in a very ragged 
and disreputable suit of clothes. For a 
few years previous to his death {he seems 
to have died about 1742) he lived on a 
weekly allowance made him by a surgeon, 
in consideration of the right to his body 
when he had done with it. A transaction 
of this sort seems to have been a very 
usual one with people as small as Farrel, 
or as large, say, as Mr, Henry Blacker, 
who was born near Cuckfield, in Sussex, 
in 1724, This gentleman's height was 
7ft. 4in, when he w r as first exhibited in 
London in 1751, and, it was said, in his 
advertising handbill, "the best propor- 
tioned of his size they "—the public — 
" ever saw." Among other distinguished 
sightseers who patronized Blacker was 
William Duke of Cumberland, himself a 
tall man, who made very frequent visits. 
A portrait engraved during the giant's 
lifetime, of which we produce a copy, 
represents him being inspected by four 
persons, none of whom are as high as his 

In 1739, nearChaliez, in Polish Russia, 
was born one of the most famous dwarfs 
of all time, Joseph, afterwards Count, 
BorowlaskL The family was a curious 
one* Both parents were of ordinary 
medium height, and their children were 
six in number, three of normal height, 
and three dwarfs* At his birth Joseph 
measured only Sin. in length, but was 
weak or defective in any respect, At 
years of age his height was 17m, ; at 
twenty -two he measured zSin. ; and it is 
a peculiarity in his case, something akin to 
that of Jeffrey Hudson, that he continued 
to grow% almost rapidly* after this till he 
was thirty years of age, His extreme height 
was 39m. — rather large com- 
pared with that of other dwarfs, 
perhaps, but still a height arrived 
at only after remarkable freaks 
of growth. I^ft an orphan at 
an early age, he was patronized 
by the Countess Humieska, who 
received him into her family and 
introduced him at Court, He 
married Mile. Isalina Barboutin, a 
lady of French extraction and of 
ordinary stature, and there were 
two children of the marriage. 
This marriage displeased the 
Countess Humieska, and from 
t'tat timi? Borawlaski was taken 

uNivi^ 1 ^ { fiwi ! ffawi ,relectton of 





King Stanislaus II. He visited many 
foreign Courts, and finally came to 
England, and was here presented to 
the Royal Family. He gave many con- 
certs and balls, at which music of his 
own composition was performed. Alto- 
gether he was a dwarf of exceptionally 
brilliant attainments. The childishness 
of manner and thought common among 
dwarfs was entirely absent in the case 
of Count Borowlaski, who was an un- 
commonly intelligent and accomplished 
gentleman, inferior to those about him 
in size only. 

Under the patronage of George IV* 
(when Prince of Wales) he wrote the 
history of his very remarkable life. 
With George IV M indeed, he was a 
great favourite, the King receiving him, 
not as a curious freak of Nature, but 
as a gentleman and a friend, HLs por- 
trait here given is copied from that 
in the frontispiece of his autobiography, 
and represents Count Borowlaski with 

his wife and second child. Many 
instances are related of his quick- 
wittedness. On one occasion a very 
large, fat, and vulgar woman took it 
upon herself to assure Borowlaski that 
he could never attain to Heaven, being 
a Roman Catholic. He cheerfully 
replied that he had read that the way 
was narrow, wherefore he ventured to 
hope for a possibly easier passage for 
himself than the lady herself might 
manage, One of the most remarkable 
facts in regard to this dwarf was the 
great age to which he attained. He 
was ninety -eight when he died, on Sep- 
tember 3rd, 1837, at Banks Cottage, 
near Durham. Any approach to this 
age on the part of either giant or dwarf 
has never been trustworthily recorded, 
both classes being, as a rule, especially 
short-lived. He was buried in Durham 
Cathedral, near Stephen Kemble* 

Borowlaski's elder brother, although 
a dwarf, was not of such unusually 
small size as to call for especial notice, 
but his younger sister, Anastasia, was 
only 2ft 2 in. high at the time of her 
death by small-pox, at twenty years of 
age. Count Borowlaski* in his book, 
tells a pretty story of this sister, whom 





he held in great affection. It seems that, not 
long before her death, she fell in love with a 
young nobleman about the Court of Stanis- 
laus, but kept her secret to herself, totally 
unsuspected by the object of her regard. The 
young nobleman, however, was extremely 
poor, and Mile. Borowlaski, by way of assist- 
ing him in a manner he should not suspect, 
played piquet with him for considerable sums, 
always contriving to lose. 

Another engraving representing Borowlaski 
in contrast with a larger person is reproduced 
here, the other per- 
son being one of the 
most famous of the 
exhibited giants of 
the last century, 
Patrick Cotter, an 
Irishman, more gene- 
rally known by his 
assumed name^ 
O'Brien, This man 
was born in 1760 or 
thereabouts, at Kin- 
sale, and worked 
while young as a 
bricklayer. While he 
was still a youth, his 
father hired him out 
to a showman for 
three years at ^50 
a year, This show- 
man under-let Cotter 
to another at Bristol 
Here Cotter refused 
to allow himself to 
be shown unless, in 
addition to his keep, 
he were paid a salary 
for himself, and was 
in consequence put 
into prison for debt 
Hence, however, he 
was rescued by some 
charitably - disposed 
person, who thereby 
earned the giant's 
life-long gratitude as well as a little corner in 
his will On his liberation Cotter began to 
exhibit himself "on his own hook," and so 
successfully as to earn £$0 in thr^e days. 
He assumed the name of O'Brien, and his 
bills, probably concocted by somebody ex- 
perienced in the show business, described 
him as the descendant of a race of Irish 
Kings — all giants. One of his best-known 
bills runs : — 

" Just arrived in town, and to be seen in a 
commodious room, at No. n> Haymarket, 


nearly opposite the Opera House, the cele- 
brated Irish Giant, Mr. O'Brien, of the 
Kingdom of Ireland, indisputably the tallest 
man ever shown ; he is a lineal descendant 
of the old puissant King Brien Boreau, and 
has in person and appearance all the simili- 
tude of that great and grand potentate. 
It is remarkable of this family that, however 
various the revolutions in point of fortune 
and alliance, the lineal descendants thereof 
have been favoured by Providence with the 
original size and stature which have been so 

peculiar to their 
family, The gentle- 
man alluded to mea- 
sures near 9ft. high* 
Admittance, one shil- 

In his thirty-eighth 
year {he died at forty- 
seven) Cotter is inde- 
pendently recorded 
as being 8ft 7 in, 
high* It is also re- 
corded that he used 
two double beds 
placed together, and 
was in the habit, in 
his early morning 
walks, of lighting his 
pipe at the street- 
lamps. His mother, 
it may be observed, 
died at the age of 
100. He probably 
got the notion of re- 
naming himself from 
the fact that another 
Irish giant, sin, less 
in height and using 
the name O'Brien 
(his actual name 
being Byrne), had 
died shortly before he 
(Cotter) began to ex- 
hibit himself. The 
skeleton of this smal- 
ler giant is now in the museum of the Royal 
College of Surgeons, in spite of its original 
owner's anxiety that the anatomists should 
not touch his body, A story is told to 
the effect that he left in his will a sum 
of ^200 to two fishermen to throw his 
body, properly weighted, into the sea; but 
that the grt'at William Hunter added another 
^200 to induce the lucky fishermen first 
to attach a rope to the corpse, so that, 
hauled out again* jL- became his property 

after University of Michigan 





A very attractive dwarf was Madame 
Teresia, born in 1 743, who, when exhibited 
in this count ry, was styled u The Corsica n 
Fairy." She was to be seen in London in 
1773, being at that time only 3410. high 
and weighing only 261b. She was elegantly 
formed and perfectly proportioned, very 
intelligent and vivacious, and spoke three 
languages. There was, indeed, about this 
little lady nothing whatever of the disagree- 
able, as is so commonly the case with "freaks 
of Nature," Her portrait shows her in 
the Court dress of the period contrasted 
with a woman of ordinary height. In the 
matter of form the portrait certainly appears 
to bear out the story of elegance and 
symmetry ; but in the matter of feature, some 
may be disposed to imagine that her nose 
could not have stopped growth until some 
time after the rest of her face. 

Thomas Bell, the Cambridge giant, was 
born in 1777, and was one of twins — the 
other twin, however, not turning out a giant 
His parents were of ordinary size, and he 
himself, when young, showed no signs of 
unusual growth. By 18 13, the date of the 

portrait which we reproduce, however, he 
had attained the height of 7ft 2m., and was 
being exhibited at the Hog-in-the-Pound in 
Oxford Street, London. He took to the 
show business because crowds of inquisitive 
sightseers prevented him from properly 
following that of his father, who was 
a blacksmith, His hands were 11 in. 
long, and each middle finger was 6 in, 
In his handbills he described himself 
as "double-jointed/ 1 No attempt has been 
made in the portrait to exhibit this last 
peculiarity, although the artist has certainly 
laid generous emphasis on the hands, 

Wy brand Lolkes, who was born in Jelst, 
Holland, in 1730, was the son of a poor 
fisherman, and was, to begin with, a watch- 
maker. His trade failed, however, and he 
began to exhibit himself, and after attending 
various Dutch fairs for a considerable time, 
amassed some little money. When sixty 
years of age he came to England, and attracted 
much notice, always appearing on the stage 
with his wife, a comely Dutchwoman* He 
is represented hy her side in the original 
engraving of which we give a copy. Astley 

Original fn 




gave him five 
guineas a week 
and a benefit, 
showing him at 
the Amphi- 
theatre, near 
Bridge. He 
was said to be 
a very good hus- 
band, and had 
three children 
of the ordinary 
stature. Al- 
though clumsy 
in figure he 

was extremely active and strong, and 
could easily jump from the ground 
upon a chair of ordinary height A 
vain little person and of rather morose 
temper, he attempted to comport 
himself with all the dignity proper 
to 6ft. of height, although his actual 
inches were only twenty-seven. 

A very extraordinary monster was 
one Basilio Huaylas, a Peruvian 
Indian, who exhibited himself in 
Lima, South America, in 1792. His 
entire height was returned as " up- 
wards of seven Castilian feet two 
inches," but the various parts of his 
great body were not duly propor- 
tioned. His head was enormous, 
occupying a third of his whole 
stature; his arms were so long 
that when he stood upright the 
ends of his fingers reached his 
knees. His trunk, too, was tre- 
mendous in size, while his legs 
were comparatively small, the right 
being an inch shorter than the 
left, the result, it was said, of 
a blow received in youth. His 
portrait was 
engraved from 
a rather rough 
and grotesque 
painting, where- 
in a musician, 
with a most 
harp, appar- 
ently upside 
down, is in- 
troduced to in- 
d i c a t e the 
giant's propor- 
tions compara- 
t i v e 1 y with 
other men's. 

Original from 
«.», kvavu^ university OF MICHIGAN 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

Episcopate, he received the oftcr of the 
Vicarage of Kensington, having thus charge 

Fnm a Phoio. by) 

A' .J-. 41. 

lEUivtt rf FVfc 


of a parish second to none in importance 
and responsibility, and the zeal and devotion 



Born 1S43. 
GLYN was educated at Harrow 
School and University College, 
Oxford, and was ordained by the 
Archhishop of York in 1H68. In 
18783 when Dr, Maclagan was raised to the 

f>o»i a. Pi 



Vol. vi it-— 36 

with which he has given himself to his work 
are well known. The Rew IL Carr-Glyn is 
also Chaplain-in-Ordinary to the Queen, and 
assisted in the christening of Prince Edward, 
son of the Duko and Duchess of York. 




From a I'Ho. In W. ,* P, Pmtmtt- 


I'KIl.SIlM" ijav, 





H.R.H. Prin 

cess Louise 
E u o E n 1 E OF 
Sweden and 
Norway is the 
daughter of the 
late King Charles 
XV. of Sweden , 
1 1 rather to the 
present King, 
Oscar II. Her 
Royal Highness 
was married to 
Prince Christian 
Frederic of Den- 
mark, at Stock- 
holm, on the 
28th of July, 
1869, the Prince 
and Princess hav- 
ing accordingly 
celebrated their 
silver wedding on 
the zSth of July 
of this year. The 
Princess has 
always been im- 
mensely popular 
in her native 
country, and by 

a i;k 14. 
From a Photo, by Didrik Jan**m r Lgndatama. 

her many acts of 
has also won the 
esteem and affec- 
tion of her future 
subjects, the peo- 
ple of Denmark* 
The interest in 
these two sets of 
portraits will, no 
doubt, be en- 
hanced by the 
appearance of a 
description of the 
Palaces belonging 
to the parents of 
the Prince and 
Princess, for as 
children of the 
Royal couple they 
are naturally 
closely connected 
with many of the 
incidents de- 
scribed in the 
article, as well as 
the subjects of 
the cuts with 
which the text 
is profusely illus- 

ACE 2Q. 

an Engravituj 6y JkHk* WW, 

by Google 





AGfc 12. 

from a FtuAo. by John Ulta 4t Cv. 


Born 1863. 





hj£j fjij educated at the " Maharajah's 

— J ^ School" at Baroda, under the 

personal supervision of Mr. F. 

Front a Fhaia. by Vuttuntmo, Hvrryrkundy 4 Co. t J*vmba^ 

Elliot, of the Indian Civil Service. On 
Mulhar Rao ? the former Gaek war's deposi- 
tion t His Highness was selected as his 
successor, and was installed on the throne, 
under regency, in 1875. In December, i88i r 
he was invested with full and Sovereign 
powers. His Highness is an excellent 
English scholar, speaking the language as 
fluently ns his own. 

l>tami * Photo, bv] 

ti£ 17. \Jukn Jitue* it ^o. 


From a Photo. b*\ yJx\ iIpFFFat +P3TTI ' *■ ^««kitu, a rightoi*. 


Martin Hewitt, Investigator. 

By Arthur Morrison. 

ERY often Hewitt was tempted, 
by the fascination of some 
particularly odd case, to 
neglect his other affairs to 
follow up a matter that from 
a business point of view was 
of little or no value to him. As a rule, he 
had a sufficient regard for his own interests 
to resist such temptations, but in one curious 
case at least I believe he allowed it largely to 
influence him. It was certainly an extremely 
odd case — one of those affairs that, coming 
to light at intervals, but more often remain- 
ing unheard of by the general public, 
convince one that after all there is very little 
extravagance about Mr. R. L. Stevenson's 
bizarre imaginings of doings in London in 
his " New Arabian Nights." " There is 
nothing in this world that is at all possible," 
I have often heard Martin Hewitt say, " that 
has not happened or is not happening in 
London." Certainly he had opportunities of 

The case I have referred to occurred some 
time before my own acquaintance with him 
began — in 1878, in fact. He had called one 
Monday morning at an office in regard to 
something connected with one of those un- 
interesting, though often difficult, cases which 
formed, perhaps, the bulk of his practice, 
when he was informed of a most mysterious 
murder that had taken place in another part 
of the same building on the previous Saturday 
afternoon. Owing to the circumstances of 
the case, only the vaguest account had 
appeared in the morning papers, and even 
this, as it chanced, Hewitt had not read. 

The building was one of a new row in a 
partly rebuilt street near the National Gallery. 
The whole row had been built by a speculator 
for the purpose of letting out in flats, suites of 
chambers, and in one or two cases, on the 
ground floors, offices. The rooms had let very 
well, and to desirable tenants as a rule. The 
least satisfactory tenant, the proprietor reluc- 
tantly admitted, was a Mr. Rameau, a negro 
gentleman, single, who had three rooms on 
the top floor but one of the particular build- 
ing that Hewitt was visiting. His rent was 
paid regularly, but his behaviour had pro- 
duced complaints from other tenants. He got 
uproariously drunk, and screamed and howled 
in unknown tongues. He' fell asleep on the 
staircase, and ladies were afraid to pass. He 
Vol. viii.— 37. 

bawled rough chaff down the stairs and along 
the corridors, at butcher boys and messengers, 
and played on errand boys brutal practical 
jokes that ended in police-court summonses. 
He once had a way of sliding down the 
balusters, shouting : " Ho 1 ho ! ho ! yah ! " 
as he went, but as he was a big, heavy man, 
and the balusters had been built for different 
treatment, he had very soon and very firmly 
been requested to stop it. He had plenty of 
money, and spent it freely ; but it was gene- 
rally felt that there was too much of the light- 
hearted savage about him to fit him to live 
among quiet people. 

How much longer the landlord would have 
stood this sort of thing, Hewitt's informant 
said, was a matter of conjecture, for on the 
Saturday afternoon in question the tenancy 
had come to a startling full-stop. Rameau 
had been murdered in his room, and the 
body had, in a most unaccountable fashion, 
been secretly removed from the premises. 

The strongest possible suspicion pointed to 
a man who had been employed in shovelling 
and carrying coals, cleaning windows, and 
chopping wood for several of the buildings, 
and who had left that very Saturday. The 
crime had, in fact, been committed with this 
man's chopper, and the man himself had 
been heard, again and again, to threaten 
Rameau, who in his brutal fashion had made 
a butt of him. This man was a Frenchman, 
Victor Goujon by name, who had lost his 
employment as a watchmaker by reason of 
an injury to his right hand, which destroyed 
its steadiness, and so he had fallen upon evil 
days and odd jobs. 

He was a little man, of no great strength, 
but extraordinarily excitable, and the coarse 
gibes and horseplay of the big negro drove 
him almost to madness. Rameau would 
often, after some more than ordinarily out- 
rageous attack, contemptuously fling Goujon 
a shilling, which the little Frenchman, 
although wanting a shilling badly enough, 
would hurl back in his face, almost weeping 
w r ith impotent rage. "Pig! Canaille!" he 
would scream. " Dirty pig of Africa ! Take 
your sheelin' to vere you 'ave stole it ! 
Voltur! Pig!" 

There was a tortoise living in the base- 
ment, of which Goujon had made rather a 
pet, and the negro would sometimes use this 
animal 1 ia)Sr||L-|mis^le, flinging it at the little 




Frenchman's head. On one such occasion 
the tortoise struck the wall so forcibly as to 
break its shell, and then Goujon seized a 
shovel and rushed at his tormentor with such 
blind fury that the latter made a bolt of it 
These were but a few of the passages between 
Rameau and the fuel-porter, but they illus- 
trate the state of feeling between them. 

Goujon, after correspondence with a relative 
in France* who offered him work, gave notice 
to leave, which expired on the day of the 
crime. At about three that afternoon a 
housemaid proceeding toward Rameau's 
rooms met Goujon as he was going away. 
Goujon bade her good-bye, and pointing in 
the direction of Rameau's rooms said, exul- 
tantly : " Dere shall be no more of the black 
pig for me ; vit J im I 'ave done for, Zut ! I 
mock me of T im ! 'E vill never tracasser me 
no more ! " And he went away. 

The girl went to the outer door of 
Rameau's rooms, knocked, and got no 
reply. Concluding that the tenant was out, 
she was about to use her keys when she 
found that the door was unlocked. She 
passed through the lobby and into the sitting- 
room, and there fell in a dead faint at the 
sight that met her eyes. Rameau lay with 
his back across the sofa and his head droop- 
ing within an inch of the ground. On the 
head was a fearful gash, and below it was a 
pool of blood. 

The girl must have 
lain unconscious for 
about ten minutes. 
When she came to her 
senses she dragged 
herself, terrified, from 
the room and up to the 
housekeeper's apart- 
ments, where, being an 
excitable and nervous 
creature, she only 
screamed " Murder ! " 
and immediately fell in 
a fit of hysterics that 
lasted t h ree-q uar te rs 
of an hour. When at 
last she came to herself 
she told her story, and, 
the hall-porter having 
been summoned, 
Rameau's rooms were 
again approached. 

The blood still lay 
on the floor, and the 
chopper, with which 
the crime had evidently 
been committed, rested 
against the fender - but the body had 
vanished ! A search was at once made, but 
no trace of it could he seen anywhere. It 
seemed impossible that it could have been 
carried out of the building, for the hall -porter 
must at once have noticed anybody leaving 
with so bulky a burden. Still, in the build- 
ing it was not to be found. 

When Hewitt was informed of these things 
on Monday, the police were, of course, still 
in possession of Rameau's rooms. Inspector 
Nettings, Hewitt was told, was in charge of 
the case, and as the inspector was an ac- 
quaintance of his, and was then in the rooms 
upstairs, Hewitt went up to see him. 

Nettings was pleased to see Hewitt, and 
invited him to look round the rooms. " Per 
haps you can spot something we have over- 
looked," he said, H Though it's not a case 
there can be much doubt about/ 1 
"You think it's Goujon, don't you?" 
" Think ? Well, rather* Look here. As 
soon as we got here on Saturday, we found 
this piece of paper and pin on the floor, 
We showed it to the housemaid, and then 
she remembered — she was too much upset to 
think of it before — that when she was in the 
room the paper was lying on the dead man's 
chest — pinned there, evidently. It must have 
d ro pped o ff wh e n th ey rem o ved th e bo dy . It's 
a case of half-man* r^Y?v^: on (loujniVs pnrt, 
plainly^^p^^Mjpwl^fl^jdon't you ? " 


27 1 

The paper was a plain, large half-sheet of 
note-paper, on which a sentence in French 
was scrawled in red ink in a large, clumsy 
hand, thus : — 

punt par un vengeur de la torfue* 

il Puni par un vengeur de la tortue" Hewitt 
repeated, musingly. " ' Punished by an 
avenger of the tortoise. 5 That seems odd." 

" Well, rather odd. But you understand 
the reference, of course. Have they told 
you about Rameau's treatment of Goujon's 
pet tortoise ? " 

"I think it was mentioned among his 
other pranks. But this is an extreme revenge 
for a thing of that sort, and a queer way of 
announcing it." 

" Oh, he's mad mad with Rameau's con- 
tinual ragging and baiting," Nettings an- 
swered. " Anyway, this is a plain indication 
— plain as though he'd left his own signature. 
Besides, it's in his own language — French. 
And there's his chopper, too." 

"Speaking of signatures," Hewitt remarked, 
"perhaps you have already compared this 
with other specimens of Goujon's writing ? " 

* ( I did think of it, but they don't seem to 
have a specimen to hand, and anyway, it 
doesn't seem very impor- 
tant There's c avenger of 
the tortoise ' plain enough, 
in the man's own language, 
and that tells everything, 
Besides, handwritings are 
easily disguised." 

" Have you got Gou- 

" Well, no ; we haven't 
There seems to be some 
little difficulty about that. 
But I expect to have him 
by this time to-morrow. 
Here comes Mr. Styles, 
the landlord." 

Mr. Styles was a thin, 
querulous, and withered- 
looking little man, who 
twitched his eyebrows as 
he spoke, and spoke in 
short, jerky phrases. 

" No news, eh, inspec- 
tor, eh? eh? Found out 
nothing else, eh ? Ter- 
rible thing for niy property 
—terrible. Who's your 

Nettings introduced 

" Shocking thing this, 

eh, Mr. Hewitt? Terrible, Comes of hav- 
ing anything to do with these bloodthirsty 
foreigners, eh? New buildings and all — 
character ruined. No one come to live here 
now, eh ? Tenants — noisy niggers — mur- 
dered by my own servants— terrible. You 
formed any opinion, eh ? " 

" I daresay I might if I went into the 

" Yes, yes — same opinion as inspector's, 
eh? I mean an opinion of your own?" 
The old man scrutinized Hewitt's face 

11 If you'd like me to look into the 
matter " Hewitt began. 

"Eh? Oh, look into it! Well, I can't 
commission you> you know — matter for the 
police. Mischief's done. Police doing very 
well, I think— must be Goujon. But look 
about the place, certainly, if you like. If you 
see anything likely to serve my interests tell 
me, and — and — perhaps I'll employ you, eh, 
eh ? Good afternoon." 

The landlord vanished, and the inspector 
laughed " Likes to see what he's buying, 
does Mr. Styles," he said, 

Hewitt's first impulse was to walk out of 
the place at once. But his interest in the 

Original from 



case had been roused, and he determined, 
at any rate, to examine the rooms, and 
this he did, very minutely. By the side 
of the lobby was a bath-room, and in 
this was fitted a tip-up wash-basin, which 
Hewitt inspected with particular attention. 
Then he called the housekeeper, and 
made inquiries about Rameau's clothes 
and linen. The housekeeper could give no 
idea of how many overcoats or how much 
linen he had had. He had all a negro's love 
of display, and was continually buying new 
clothes, which, indeed, were lying, hanging, 
littering, and choking up the bedroom in 
all directions. The housekeeper, however, 
on Hewitt's inquiring after such a garment in 
particular, did remember one heavy black 
ulster, which Rameau had very rarely worn 
only in the coldest weather. 

" After the body was discovered," Hewitt 
asked the housekeeper, " was any stranger 
observed about the place— whether carry- 
ing anything or not ? " 

"No, sir," the housekeeper replied. 
"There's been particular inquiries about 
that. Of course, after we knew what was 
wrong and the body was gone, nobody was 
seen, or he'd have been stopped. But 
the hall-porter says he's certain no stranger 
came or went for half an hour or more before 
that — the time about when the 
housemaid saw the body and 

At this moment a clerk from the 
landlord's office arrived and handed 
Nettings a paper. " Here you are/' 
said Nettings to Hewitt ; u they've 
found a specimen of Goujon's hand- 
writing at last, if you'd like to see 
it. I don't want it — I'm not a 
graphologist, and the case is clear 
enough for me, anyway," 

Hewitt took the paper : " This/' 
he said, " is a different sort of 
handwriting from that on the paper. 
The red ink note about the avenger 
of the tortoise is in a crude, large, 
clumsy f untaught style of writing. 
This is small, neat, and well formed 
— except that it is a trifle shaky, 
probably because of the hand in- 

11 That's nothing," contended 
Nettings ; " handwriting clues are 
worse than useless, as a rule. It's 
so easy to disguise and imitate writ- 
ing ; and besides, if Goujon is such 
a good penman as you seem to say, 
why, he could all the easier alter 

his style. Say now yourself, can any fiddling 
question of handwriting get over this thing 
about £ avenging the tortoise' — practically a 
written confession ? To say nothing of the 
chopper, and what he said to the housemaid 
as he left." 

"Well, J? said Hewitt, "perhaps not; but 
we'll see. Meantime," turning to the land- 
lord's clerk, M possibly you will be good 
enough to tell me one or two things. First, 
what was Goujon's character?" 

u Excellent, as far as we know. We never 
had a complaint about him except for little 
matters of carelessness — leaving coal-scuttles 
on the staircases for people to fall over, 
losing shovels, and so on. He was certainly 
a bit careless, but, as far as we could see, 
quite a decent little fellow. One would 
never have thought him capable of commit- 
ting murder for the sake of a tortoise, though 
he was rather fond of the animal." 

" The tortoise is dead now, I understand ? " 


" Have you a lift in this building?" 

" Only for coals and heavy parcels. Goujon 
used to work it, sometimes going up and 
down in it himself with coals, and so on; it 
goes into the basement" 

"And are the coals kept under this 
building ? " 

Original from 



"No. The store for the whole row is 
under the next two houses — the basements 

11 Do you know Rameau's other name ? " 

" C£sar Rameau he signed in our agree- 

" Did he ever mention his relations ? " 

" No. That is to say, he did say some- 
thing one day when he was very drunk ; but, 
of course, it was all rot Someone told him 
not to make such a row — he was a beastly 
tenant — and he said he was the best man in 
the place, and his brother was Prime Minister, 
and all sorts of things. Mere drunken rant. 
I never heard of his saying anything sensible 
about relations. We know nothing of his 
connections ; he came here on a banker's 

"Thanks. I think that's all I want to 
ask. You notice," Hewitt proceeded, turn- 
ing to Nettings, " the only ink in this place is 
scented and violet, and the only paper is tinted 
and scented too, with a monogram — charac- 
teristic of a negro with money. The paper 
that was pinned on Rameau's breast is in red 
ink on common and rather grubby paper, 
therefore it was written somewhere else and 
brought here. Inference, premeditation." 

" Yes, yes. But are you an inch nearer, 
with all these speculations? Can you get 
nearer than I am now without them ? " 

" Well, perhaps not," Hewitt replied. " I 
don't profess, at this moment, to know the 
criminal — you do. I'll concede you that 
point for the present But you don't offer 
an opinion as to who removed Rameau's 
body — which I think I know." 

" Who was it, then ? " 

"Come, try and guess that yourself. It 
wasn't Goujon, I don't mind letting you 
know that But it was a person quite within 
your knowledge of the case. You've men- 
tioned the person's name more than once." 

Nettings stared blankly. " I don't under- 
stand you in the least," he said. " But, of 
course, you mean that this mysterious person 
you speak of as having moved the body com- 
mitted the murder ? " 

" No, I don't Nobody could have been 
more innocent of that" 

" Well," Nettings concluded, with resigna- 
tion, "I'm afraid one of us is rather thick- 
headed. What will you do ? " 

" Interview the person who took away the 
body," Hewitt replied, with a smile. 

" But, man alive, why ? Why bother 
about the person if it isn't the criminal ? " 

" Never mind — never mind ; probably the , 
person will be a most valuable witness." 

"Do you mean you think this person — 
whoever it is — saw the crime ? " 

" I think it very probable indeed." 

" Well, I won't ask you any more. I shall 
get hold of Goujon — that's simple and direct 
enough for me. I prefer to deal with the 
heart of the case — the murder itself — when 
there's such clear evidence as I have." 

" I shall look a little into that, too, 
perhaps," Hewitt said, " and if you like I'll 
tell you the first thing I shall do." 

"What's that?" 

" I shall have a good look at a map of the 
West Indies, and I advise you to do the 
same. Good morning." 

Nettings stared down the corridor after 
Hewitt, and continued staring for nearly two 
minutes after he had disappeared. Then he 
said to the clerk, who had remained : " What 
was he talking about ? " 

" Don't know," replied the clerk. " Couldn't 
make head or tail of it." 

" I don't believe there is a head to it," 
declared Nettings ; " nor a tail either. He's 
kidding us." 

Nettings was better than his word, for 
within two hours of his conversation with 
Hewitt, Goujon was captured and safe in a 
cab bound for Bow Street. He had been 
stopped at Newhaven in the morning on his 
way to Dieppe, and was brought back to 
London. But now Nettings met a check. 

Late that afternoon he called on Hewitt 
to explain matters. " We've got Goujon," 
he said, gloomily, " but there's a difficulty. 
He's got two friends who can swear an alibi. 
Rameau was seen alive at half-past one on 
Saturday, and the girl found him dead about 
three. Now, Gonjou's two friends, it seems, 
were with him from one o'clock till four in 
the afternoon with the exception of five 
minutes when the girl saw him, and then he 
left them to take a key or something to the 
housekeeper before finally leaving. They 
were waiting on the landing below when 
Goujon spoke to the housemaid, heard 
him speaking, and had seen him go 
all the way up to the housekeeper's room 
and back, as they looked up the wide well 
of the staircase. They are men employed 
near the place, and seem to have good 
characters. But perhaps we shall find some- 
thing unfavourable about them. They were 
drinking with Goujon, it seems, by way of 
1 seeing him off.' " 

"Well," Hewitt said, "I scarcely think 
you need trouble to damage these men's 
character!,. They are probably telling the 



truth. Come, now, be plain. You've come 
here to get a hint as to whether my theory of 
the case helps you, haven't you ? " 

" Well, if you can give me a friendly hint, 
although, of course, I may be right after all. 
Still, I wish you'd explain a bit as to what you 
meant by looking at a map and all that 
mystery. Nice thing for me to be taking a 
lesson in my own business after all these 
years. But perhaps I deserve it" 

"See now," quoth Hewitt, "you remember 
what map I told you to look at ? " 

" The West Indies." 

"Right. Well, here you are." Hewitt 
reached an atlas from his bookshelf. " Now, 
look here : the biggest island of the lot on 
this map, barring Cuba, is Hayti. You know- 
as well as I do that the western part of that 
island is peopled by the black republic of 
Hayti, and that the country is in a dege- 
nerate state of almost unexampled savagery, 
with a ridiculous show of civilization. There 
are revolutions all the lime — the South 
American republics are peaceful and pros- 
perous compared to Hayti. The state of the 
country is simply awful — read Sir Spenser St. 
John's book on it. President after President 
of the vilest sort forces his way to power, 
and commits the most horrible and blood- 
thirsty excesses, murdering his opponents by 
the hundred and seizing their property for 
himself and his satellites, who are usually as 
bad, if not worse than the President himself. 
Whole families — men, women, and children 
— are murdered at the instance of these 
ruffians, and, as a consequence, the most 
deadly feuds spring up, and the Presidents 
and their followers are always themselves 
in danger of reprisals from others. Perhaps 
the very worst of these Presidents in recent 
times has been the notorious Domingue, 
who was overthrown by an insurrection, 
as they all are sooner or later, and 
compelled to fly the country. Domingue 
and his nephews, one of whom was Chief 
Minister, while in power committed the 
cruellest bloodshed, and many members of 
the opposite party sought refuge in a small 
island lying just to the north of Hayti, but 
were sought out there and almost exter- 
minated. Now, I will show you that island 
on the map. What is its name ? " 

" Tortuga." 

"It is. 'Tortuga,' however, is only the 
old Spanish name — the Haytians speak 
French — Creole French. Here is a French 
atlas : noiu see the name of that island." 

" La Tortue ! " 

" La Tortue it is — the tortoise. Tortuga 

means the same thing in Spanish. But that 
island is always spoken of in Hayti as La 
Tortue. Now do you see the drift of that 
paper pinned to Rameau's breast ! " 

" Punished by an avenger of— or from — 
the tortoise or La Tortue — clear enough. It 
would seem that the dead man had some- 
thing to do with the massacre there, and 
somebody from the island is avenging it. 
The thing's most extraordinary." 

" And now listen. The name of Domin- 
gue's nephew, who was Chief Minister, was 
Septimus Rameau" 

" And this was C£sar Rameau— his brother, 
probably. I see. Well — this is a case." 

" I think the relationship probable. Now 
you understand why I was inclined to doubt 
that Goujon was the man you wanted." 

" Of course, of course. And now I 
suppose I must try to get a nigger — the chap 
who wrote that paper. I wish he hadn't been 
such an ignorant nigger. If he'd only have 
put the capitals to the words * La Tortue/ I 
might have thought a little more about them, 
instead of taking it for granted that they 
meant that wretched tortoise in the basement 
of the house. Well, I've made a fool of a 
start, but I'll be after that nigger now." 

" And I, as I said before," said Hewitt, 
"shall be after the person that carried off 
Rameau's body. I have had something else 
to do this afternoon, or I should have begun 

" You said you thought he saw the crime. 
How did you judge that ? " 

Hewitt smiled. "I think I'll keep that 
little secret to myself for the present," he 
said. " You shall know soon." 

" Very well," Nettings replied, with resigna- 
tion. " I suppose I mustn't grumble if you 
don't tell me everything. I feel too great a 
fool altogether over this case to see any 
further than you show me." And Inspector 
Nettings left on his search ; while Martin 
Hewitt, as soon as he was alone, laughed 
joyously and slapped his thigh. 

There was a cab-rank and shelter at the 
end of the street where Mr. Styles's building 
stood, and early that evening a man ap- 
proached it and hailed the cabmen and the 
waterman. Anyone would have known the 
new-comer at once for a cabman taking a 
holiday. The brim of the hat, the bird's-eye 
neckerchief, the immense coat buttons, and 
more than all, the rolling walk and the 
wrinkled trousers, marked him out distinctly. 

" Watcheer ! j; he exclaimed, affably, with 
the seliF-possess-ed nod only possible to 




cabbies and 'busmen. " I'm a-Iookin' for a 
bilker. Vm told one o' the bloke's off this 
rank carried 4m last Saturday, and I want to 
know where he went I ain't 'ad a chance o J 
gettin' 'is address yet. Took a cab just as it 
got dark, I'm told. Tallish chap, muffled up 
a lot, in a long black overcoat Any of ye 
seen ? im ? " 

The cabbies looked at one another and 
shook their heads ; it chanced that none of 
them had been on that particular rank at 
that time. But the waterman said, "'Old 
on -^1 bet 'e's the bloke wot old Bill Stam- 
mers took. Yorkey was fust on the rank, 
but the bloke wouldn't 'ave a 'ansom— 
wanted a four-wheeler; so old Bill took 'int. 
Biggish chap in a long black coat, collar up 
an 1 muffled thick ; soft wideawake 'at, pulled 

over 'is eyes ; and he was in a 'urry, too. 
Jumped in sharp as a weasel" 

" Didn't see 'is face, did ye ? " 

No— not a inch of it; too much muffled 
Couldn't tell if he 'ad a face," 

" Was his arm in a sling ? " 

"Aye, it looked so. Had it stuffed through 
the breast of his coat, like as though there 
might be a sling inside." 

"That's 'im. Any of ye 
tell me where I might run 
across old Bill Stammers? 
He'll tell me where my pre- 
cious bilker went to." 

As to this there was plenty 
of information, and in five 
minutes Martin Hewitt, who 
had become an unoccupied 
cabman for the occasion, was 
on his way to find old Bill 
Stammers. That respectable 
old man gave him exact par- 
ticulars as to the place in the 
East-end where he had driven 
his muffled fare on Satur- 
day, and soon Hewitt had 
begun an eighteen or twenty 
hours 1 search beyond White- 

At about three on Tuesday 
afternoon, as Nettings was in 
the act of leaving Bow Street 
Police Station, Hewitt drove 
up in a four-wheeler. Some 
prisoner appeared to be 
crouching low in the vehicle, 
but leaving him to take 
care of himself, Hewitt hur- 
ried into the station and 
shook Nettings by the hand. 
" Well," he said, " have you got the murderer 
of Rameau yet? " 

** No/' Nettings growled " Unless — well, 
Goujon's under remand still, and after all 
I've been thinking that he may know some- 

thing- " 

41 Pooh, nonsense ! " Hewitt answered. 
" You'd better let him go. Now 3 I have got 
somebody." Hewitt laughed and slapped 
the inspector's shoulder. u IVe got the man 
who carried Rameau's body away ! " 

"The deuce you have! Where? Bring 

him in. We must have him " 

11 All right, don't be in a hurry — he won't 
bolt" And Hewitt stepped out to the cab 
and produced his prisoner, who, pulling his 
hat further over his eyes, hurried furtively 
into the station. One hand was stowed in 
the breast of his long coat* and below 
the wide brim of his hat a small piece of 
white bandage could be seen ; and as he 
lifted his face it was seen to be that of a 

" Inspector Nettings," Hewitt said, cere- 
moniously, "allow me to introduce Mr. 
Cesar RAMisugirlcfl from 



kt WHAT t YOU?' 

" What ! " he at length ejaculated. " What ! 
You — you're Rameau ? " 

The negro looked round nervously, and 
shrank further from the door 

" Yes," he said ; " but please not so loud 
—please not loud. Zey may be near, and 
Fm Traid." 

" You will certify, will you not," asked 
Hewitt, with malicious glee, H not only that 
you were not murdered last Saturday by 
Victor Goujon, but that, in fact, you were not 
murdered at all ? Abo that you carried your 
own body away in the usual fashion, on your 
own tegs ? " 

"YeSj yes," responded Rameau, looking 
haggardly about ; " but is not zis — zis room 
publique? I should not be seen," 

"Nonsense/ 1 replied Hewitt, rather testily, 
" you exaggerate your danger and your own 
importance, and your enemies' abilities as 
well You're safe enough," 

11 1 suppose, then," Nettings remarked, 
slowly, like a man on whose mind some- 
thing vast was beginning to dawn — " I 
suppose — why, hang it, you must have 
just got up while that fool of a girl was 
screaming and fainting upstairs, and walked 
out — they say there's nothing so hard as a 
nigger's skull, and yours has certainly made 

a fool of me. But then some- 
body must have chopped you 
over the head —who was it ? IJ 

" M y en e mi es — my great 
enemies ; enemies politique. I 
am a great man "—this with a 
faint revival of vanity amid his 
fear — 4f a great man in my coun- 
tree. Zey have great secret 
club-'sieties to kill me— me and 
my frien's ; and one enemy 
coming in my rooms does zis — 
one, two" — he indicated wrist 
and head — " wiz a choppah." 

Rameau made the case plain 
to Nettings, so far as the actual 
circumstances of the assault 
on himself were concerned* 
A negro whom he had noticed 
near the place more than once 
during the previous day or two 
had attacked him suddenly in 
his rooms, dealing him two 
savage blows with a chopper 
The first he had caught on 
his wrist, which was seriously 
damaged, as well as excruciat- 
ingly painful, but the second 
had taken effect on his head. 
His assailant had evidently 
gone away then, leaving him for dead ; but 
as a matter of fact he was only stunned 
by the shock, and had, thanks to the ada- 
mantine thickness of the negro skull and 
the ill-direction of the chopper, only a very 
bad scalp wound, the bone being no more 
than giazed He had lain insensible for 
some time, and must have come to his senses 
soon after the housemaid had left the room. 
Terrified at the knowledge that his enemies 
had found him out, his only thought was to 
get away and hide himself. He hastily 
washed and tied up his head, enveloped him- 
self in the biggest coat he could find, and let 
himself down into the basement by the coal- 
lift, for fear of observation. He waited in 
the basement of one of the adjoining buildings 
till dark and then got away in a cab, with the 
idL i a of hiding himself in the East-end. He 
had had very little money with him on his 
flight, and it was by reason of this circum- 
stance that Hewitt, when he found him, had 
prevailed on him to leave his hiding-place, 
since it would be impossible for him to touch 
any of the large sums of money in the keep- 
ing of his bank so long as he was supposed 
to be dead. With much difficulty, and 
the promise of ample police protection, he 

was at 

i*ffl9TW*fer ,d 

be safe 



to declare himself and get his property, 
and then run away and hide wherever he 

Nettings and Hewitt strolled off together 
far a few minutes and chatted, leaving the 
wretched Rameau to cower in a corner 
among several policemen. 


"Well, Mr. Hewitt/ 1 Nettings said, "this 
case has certainly been a shocking beating 
for me- I must have been as blind as a bat 
when I started on it And yet I don't see 
that you had a deal to go on even now. 
What struck you first ? " 

" Well, in the beginning it seemed rather 
odd to me that the body should have been 
taken away — as I had been told it was, after 
the written paper had been pinned on it. 
Why should the murderer pin a label on the 
body of his victim if he meant carrying that 
body away ? Who would read the label and 
learn of the nature of the revenge gratified ? 
Plainly that indicated that the person who 
had carried away the body was not the per- 
son who had committed the murder. But as 
soon as I began to examine the place I saw 
the probability that there was no murder after 
all. There were any number of indications 
of this fact, and I can't understand your not 
observing them. First, although there was a 

Vol. viii.--3B. 

good deal of blood on the floor just below 
where the housemaid had seen Rameau lying, 
there was none between that place and the 
door. Now, if the body had been dragged, 
or even carried, to the door, blood must 
have become smeared about the floor, or 
at least there would have been drops; but 

there were none, 
and this seemed 
to hint that the 
corpse might 
have come to it- 
self, sat up on the 
sofa, stanched 
the wound, and 
walked out. I re- 
flected at once 
that Rameau was 
a full-blooded 
negro, and that a 
negro's head is 
very nearly invul- 
nerable to any- 
thing short of 
bullets. Then, if 
the body had 
been dragged 
out — as such a 
heavy body must 
have been — al- 
most of necessity 
the carpet and 
rugs would show 
signs of the fact, 
but there were no 
such signs. But 
beyond these 
there was the fact that no long black overcoat 
was left with the other clothes, although the 
housekeeper distinctly remembered Rameau^s 
possession of such a garment. I judged he 
would use some such thing to assist his dis- 
guise, which was why I asked her. Why he 
would want disguise was plain, as you shall 
see presently* There were no towels left in 
the bath-room — inference, used for bandages* 
Everything seemed to show that the only 
person responsible for Rameau ? s removal was 
Rameau himself Why, then, had he gone 
away secretly and hurriedly, without making 
complaint, and why had he stayed away? 
What reason would he have for doing this if 
it had been Goujon that had attacked him ? 
None, Goujon was going to France* Clearly, 
Rameau was afraid of another attack from 
some implacable enemy whom he was 
anxious to avoid — one against whom he 
feared legal coirvplaint or defence would be 
uselessilNI^H^IP^ftVJfiHItiAhtnce to the 



paper found on the floor. If this were the 
work of Goujon and an open reference to his 
tortoise, why should he be at such pains to 
disguise his handwriting? He would have 
been already pointing himself out by the 
mere mention of the tortoise. And, if he 
could not avoid a shake in his natural, small 
handwriting, how could he have avoided it 
in a large, clumsy, slowly-drawn, assumed 
hand ? No, the paper was not Goujon's." 

" As to the writing on the paper," Nettings 
interposed, "I've told you how I made that 
mistake. I took the readiest explanation of 
the words, since they seemed so pat, and 
I wouldn't let anything else outweigh that. 
As to the other things — the evidences of 
Rameau's having gone off by himself — well, 
I don't usually miss such obvious things ; 
but I never thought of the possibility of the 
victim going away on the quiet and not 
coming back, as though hJd done something 
wrong. Comes of starting with a set of 
fixed notions." 

" Well," answered Hewitt, " I fancy you 
must have been rather ' out of form,' as they 
say — everybody has his stupid days, and you 
can't keep up to concert pitch for ever. To 
return to the case. The evidence of the 
chopper was very untrustworthy- — especially 
when I had heard of Goujon's careless habits 
— losing shovels and leaving coal-scuttles on 
stairs. Nothing more likely than for the 
chopper to be left lying about, and a criminal 
who had calculated his chances would know 
the advantage to himself of using a weapon 
that belonged to the place, and leaving it 
behind, to divert suspicion. It is quite 
possible, by the way, that the man who 
attacked Rameau got away down the coal-lift 
and out by an adjoining basement, just as 
did Rameau himself; this, however, is mere 
conjecture. The would-be murderer had 
plainly prepared for the crime — witness the 
previous preparation of the paper declaring 
his revenge — an indication of his pride 
at having run his enemy to earth at such 
a distant place as this — although I 
expect he was only in England by chance, 
for Haytians are not a persistently energetic 
race. In regard to the use of small instead 
of capital letters in the words ' La Tortue ' 
on the paper, I observed, in the beginning, 
that the first letter of the whole sentence — 
the p in ' puni ' — was a small one. Clearly 
the writer was an illiterate man, and it was at 
once plain that he may have made the same 
mistake with ensuing words. 

by LiOOglC 

"On the whole, it was plain that every- 
body had begun with a too-ready disposition 
to assume that Goujon was guilty. Every- 
body insisted, too, that the body had been 
carried away — which was true, of course, 
although not in the sense intended — so I 
didn't trouble to contradict, or to say more 
than that I guessed who had carried the 
body off. And to tell you the truth, I was a 
little piqued at Mr. Styles's manner, and 
indisposed, interested in the case as I was, 
to give away my theories too freely. 

" The rest of the job was not very difficult. 
I found out the cabman who had taken 
Rameau away — you can always get readier 
help from cabbies if you go as one of them- 
selves, especially if you are after a bilker — 
and from him got a sufficiently near East-end 
direction to find Rameau after inquiries. I 
ventured, by the way, on a rather long shot. 
I described my man to the cabman as having 
an injured arm or wrist — and it turned out 
a correct guess. You see, a man making an 
attack with a chopper is pretty certain to 
make more than a single blow, and as there 
appeared to have been only a single wound 
on the head, it seemed probable that another 
had fallen somewhere else — almost certainly 
on the arm, as it would be raised to 
defend the head. At Limehouse I 
found he had had his head and wrist 
attended to at a local medico's, and a big 
nigger in a fright, with a long black coat, a 
broken head and a lame hand, is not so diffi- 
cult to find in a small area. How I persuaded 
him up here you know already; I think I 
frightened him a little, too, by explaining 
how easily I had tracked him, and giving 
him a hint that others might do the same. 
He is in a great funk. He seems to 
have quite lost faith in England as a safe 

The police failed to catch Rameau's as- 
sailant — chiefly because Rameau could not be 
got to give a proper description of him, nor to 
do anything except get out of the country in 
a hurry. In truth, he was glad to be quit 
of the matter with nothing worse than his 
broken head. Little Goujon made a wild 
storm about his arrest, and before he did 
go to France managed to extract ^20 from 
Rameau by way of compensation, in spite 
of the absence of any strictly legal claim 
against his old tormentor. So that, on the 
whole, Goujon was about the only person 
who derived any particular profit from the 
tortoise mystery. 

Original from 


Engine Drivers and their IVork. 

By Alfred T. Story. 


OHN CHALLON, who began 
his career at Watford in 1853, 
and commenced driving in 
1859, said he was fifty-six 
yearn of age, but did not look 
much over forty. His father 
took the first engine from Euston to 
Boxmoor. Describing his " hair -breadth 
escapes, 7 ' Challon said he was once standing 
with bis engine in a siding at Crewe, waiting 
to take on the 3,45 Scotch express, when he 
was run into by another Scotch express and 
had a *' narrow squeak of it." The driver of 
the express had failed to put on the brake 
soon enough, or some- 
thing of the kind, and as 
he was bound to run 
either into him or into a 
full train standing in the 
station, the signalman put 
the points so as to turn 
him into the siding. By 
his presence of mind 
he undoubtedly saved a 
great number of lives. 
As it was, only a lady 
passenger was much 
hurt, His engine, the 
engine of the express, and 
another were badly 

* l You were not hurt? yy 

li No, the first I saw of 
what was coming was that 
my fireman said, ' Look 
here, mate ! * I was off 
the engine in an instant, 
and so was he/' 

" Do you always jump 
off when you see a collision inevitable ? w 

" It depends how you arc going. If I were 
running at a high speed I should prefer to 
stay on my engine. We should have a better 
chance. It is always safest to stay where you 
are if you are going more than ten miles an 
hour. In jumping, you get down on to the 
foot-board, and jump as far as you can the 
way the engine is going. Even then, if 
the train is travelling only at the rate of 
ten miles an hour, you may get a nasty 


system was 
foggy morning. 

From a Photo, top A. ikott > Oxford Street, W. 

times like a hoop, but that does not hurt 
you,' 1 

Another narrow escape which Challon 
described was one in which he and Brown 
were concerned. It occurred near Nuneaton. 
Brown was working down an empty waggon 
train from Camden to Crewe, and Challon 
was running the Scotch express, leaving 
Crewe at 5,32 in the morning. Brown 
was being shunted to let the express pass, 
and was lying right across the main line. 
This was before the block 
traduced, and it was a very 
Brown heard the express coming, knew 
what a terrible catas- 
trophe .would happen if 
the express were not 
stopped, and blew his 
whistle as hard as he 
coutd* For tunately 
Challon heard it, put on 
his brake, and thus 
barely escaped a collision 
as it were, by the skin 
of the teeth. Said 
Challon: "We had not 
the brake-power then that 
we have now* Now we 
can stop easily within 300 
yards ; then it took us 
more than half a mile* 
I thought we were surely 
in for a smash, and 
when we were slowing 
down I jumped for it 
Luckily we avoided it; 
but there was not more 
than a yard between my 
engine and Brown's train 
a stand." In conclusion, 
is generally chosen to 
he goes to 
He added, 

when we came to 

Challon said he 

take the Prince of Wales when 

Tring to visit Baron Rothschild. 

knock. If there is a 
safe to spring for that* 
jump you are rolled 

hedge near, it is pretty 
Sometimes when you 
over and over several 

"My engine is of the 4 Precedent* type, 
6ft. 6in + , (our wheels coupled," 

It should be added here that every man, 
before he is put on an engine, has to under- 
go a sight examination* This is designed to 
test not only his sight as such, but also his 
ability to distinguish colours, In addition to 
this the men are examined from time to time 
to see that there is no failure of sight 

employed by the 

SHgWtffy ■ -different 



different companies, but the effect is the 
same. On the I^ndon and North-Western 
a card, five inches long by four broad, 
divided into coloured sections, and covered 
with dots, is used. This is placed at a 
distance of from fifteen to twenty yards, and 
if the person tested can distinguish the 
colours and count the dots at that distance, 
with one eye or with both, his sight is con- 
sidered all right, and he is passed. 

A day spent among the Great Western 
Railway Works at Swindon is an education 
in railway matters in itself. There seem to 
be miles upon miles of factories, sheds, 
and sidings ; but as our subject is engine- 
men, we must keep to them. Mr. W, Dean, 
the head of the locomotive Department, 
deputed his assistant, Mr. Williams, to select 
suitable men to give their experience. 

William 1\ S. Ball said he began 
his career in connection with the 
Great Western Railway at Gloucester, 
in 1844, at fourteen years of age, 
as an engine cleaner He went 
through every grade from that posi- 
tion until he became a driver, 
He has now been a driver thirty- 
eight years* He first worked on the 
Vale of Neath Railway, and was 
taken over by the Great Western 
along with the line. Questioned 
as to his day's work, he said : — 

" When 1 arrive at the shed in 
the morning T the fire has been put 
in my engine. My first duty is to 
see that it is all right. We examine 
the whole of the engine minutely, 
and see that it is fit to go out If 
I found anything wrong, or in any 
way defective, I should communi- 
cate with my foreman at once- 
When we have satisfied ourselves — 
I mean myself and my fireman — 
we then join the train. Our time 
is ten hours a day. I am at work 
nine and a half hours. I and 
another man are running special 
trains from here to Jxmdon. One 
day I run from the station at 
9 a.m., being on duty at eight and 
finishing at five. We arrive from 
London at 4.30. That is one day, We are 
three hours in London, and then return. 
On alternate days I come on at 1 p.m., and 
am back again by 9,30, finishing about ten. 
The alternate day's train back is a stopping 

Asked if he had ever been in an accident 
Ball said : — 

" I was in an accident in South Wales, 
We ran our train into a coal train. It was 
no fault of mine, however ; it was in conse- 
quence of a wrong signal. I was not hurt* 
Our chief danger lies in wrong signals* We 
have to take them, right or wrong. As far as 
our duty is concerned, we have to be always 
on the alert." 

In reply to a question as to the wear and 
tear of the work of driving, Ball said 1— 

"An engine-man needs to have a good 
constitution." He added, "The Great Master 
has given me good health, and I have taken 
good care of it, I never had any ill-health, 
and I know nothing about it 1 do not find 
that the exposure tells upon me at all." 

" Do you receive a premium for economy 
in the use of fuel ?" 

"Not exactly for that, but for economy 

FiltHi rf| 

W. F. S. BALL. 


in the use of coal and other things, and 
for good conduct generally, I get a pre- 
mium of j£io a year. I receive that every 

While this conversation was going on, Ball 
was oiling his engine and getting ready to 



from thence to the siding to be in readiness 
for the express from Bristol, On the way up 
Ball explained that the oiling of the engine 
was one of the most important duties of the 
driver, and he always attended to it himself. 
He pointed out also that the driver's place 
on the foot-plate is on the right side and the 
fireman's on the left. The chief handles and 
other gear connected with the control of the 
engine are on the right side, while those 
connected with the fire, the sand-box, and 
boiler are on the left, The driver keeps a 
good look-out on the right— the signals being 
generally on th:it 
side — while the fire- 
man, when not en- 
gaged with the fire, 
watches from the left 

A. Dickenson said 
he was doing goods 
work, and had been 
twenty-two years fir- 
ing and driving. He 
commenced as a 
cleaner, but never 
did much cleaning. 
He was put on the 
engines from the 
first, and employed 
on jobs in the sheds. 
He then went on to 
say : — 

"I have been an 
engineman now 
twelve years. I am 
in a second-class 
*link' that runs trains 
to London, Ilfra- 
combe, and Neath, 
I have been on 
duty eight and a half 
hours to-day. I am 
running to London 
and back this week. 
I have finished ^»n*i 
now till 5.30 to- 
morrow morning. Next week I go to 
Neath ; then I take a rest and come back 
from Neath next day," 

Mr Martin, formerly a driver, now foreman 
of the engine-shed, said he started at fifteen- 
pence a day as cleaner. He used to work 
from six till six, with meal times. He was 
allowed to work three days extra, for the 
sake of making overtime. That was a 
regulation that would not be allowed 
now. At present a man was not allowed 
to put in more than sixty hours a week. 

Drivers, as well as others 011 the line, 
were 30 or 40 per cent, better off 
now than they were thirty years ago. He 
joined the Great Western service in 1858, 
and started driving at Reading in 1867 
or '68 on a goods train. I^ter he went on 
to passenger work, and for nine years drove 
on the broad gauge from London to Bristol, 
He was inspector for some years before he 
became foreman. 

Asked if he had ever been in an accident, 
Mr. Martin said : — 

"Yes, I have been in one or two. When 
I was driving a goods 
engine, I once got 
into a bad mishap at 
Lilliput, in South 
Wales. We were 
going at the rate of 
ten miles an hour up 
a heavy gradient, the 
points being in our 
favour, and every- 
thing apparently all 
right, when suddenly 
I found the engine 
give way beneath me 
and myself flying 
through the air. 
The embankment 
had broken down, 
and the engine and 
some of the waggons 
had gone over into a 
field. I was shaken 
a bit, but not hurt, 
neither was my mate* 
The accident hap- 
pened two days after 
my marriage, and I 
remember thinking 
what would become 
of my poor wife as I 
was going through 
the air, 35 

" What other acci- 
dent were you in ? * 
"I was coming up from Bristol in the 
month of June, somewhere about 1880 or '8i, 
with the 12.45 limited mail. There was a 
dreadful thunderstorm at the time, and what 
with the noise of the train and the rolling 
and crashing of the thunder, I did not hear 
that the line was covered with water. The 
worst of the storm was just as we had passed 
Reading. It would be about three o'clock 
in the morning, and the thunder and lightning 
were something fearful. About two miles on 
the London side of Twylbrd I saw a goods 





■Front a) 


[FAot •■:.;.•■ ,}}t>. 

train coming down, and the driver was 
holding a red light and signalling to us + We 
were running at the rate of sixty miles an 
hour at the time. I shut off steam and was 
preparing to pull up, when I felt the engine 
run into something soft, and then felt it 
coming out of the fire-hole door. The side 
of the cutting had come down ; it was of 
limestone, and the debris had become mixed 
with the water. The fire was, of course, put 
out, and we were covered with lime, right 
back to the tender* We had broken away 
from our train, and there is no telling what 
might have happened but for the timely 
warning of the goods' driver" 

Referring to the introduction of the im- 
provements in signalling, Mr. Martin said; 
"The block system was introduced on the 
Great Western in the seventies. When I 
first became an engineman the signalling was 
very defective, and we never knew exactly 
what might happen. The signalman would 
say : f There is such a train on the line 
in front of you. It started about ten minutes 
ago. You can go on ; but keep your eyes 
open,' So we would go on, feeling our way ; 
but it was dangerous and hazardous work — 

although there were not nearly so many trains 
as now — and I had several narrow escapes 
at one time or another." 

When a Great Western driver arrives for 
the first time at a new terminus, and is 
obliged to stay there for the nightj he is 
allowed half a crown for his expenses. After 
the first night he is allowed eighteenpence. 
On other lines there is either a similar allow- 
or else the men — fireman as well as 

a nee, 

driver— are provided with accommodation for 
cooking their food, resting, and sleeping in 
" barracks " built for the purpose. Those at 
Crewe, Rugby, and Camden, on the North- 
western, are very extensive, accommodating 
in all many hundreds of men. 

The London and South-Western, although 
not one of the largest, is among the best 
managed lines. The company pays special 
attention to its workmen ; and when a man 
retires, at the age of sixty or over, he is given 
a free superannuation, varying from five to 
twenty-one shillings a week, according to 
rate of pay and length of service. The 
general rules and arrangements under which 
the men work are much the same as on the 
other lines, and need not be specially de- 
scribed. The wages and hours of working 
are also much the same. Mr. Thomas Higgs 
was the first to be interviewed- He is the 
chief assistant in the running department of 
Mr. Adams, superintendent of the Locomo- 
tive Department Mr, Higgs said : — 

"I have the superintendence of the engines, 
the enginemen, firemen, cleaners, coalmen, 
and everything connected with the running 
department I commenced my career on the 
London and North- Western Railway at Rugby 
in 1846, as office and bar- boy. I worked 
through the sheds and fitting shops until 

1853. Then I commenced on the road as a 
fireman, and worked in that position until 

1854, when I retired from the service of the 
London and North- Western Railway. After 
a short turn on the South Staffordshire Rail- 
way, and then some months in Dublin and 
Belfast, I joined the service of the London and 
South- Western Railway in 1856 as a fireman, 
and in the following year was promoted to the 
position of relief driver on the Dorset and 
Weymouth line. The same year I was made 
engineman, working on different parts of the 
railroad, running goods and passenger trains. 
Finally, in 1859, I settled at Salisbury, run- 
ing between Salisbury and Ixmdon, On the 
opening of the Exeter line I was shifted to 
Exeter, and then ran between Exeter and 
Salisbury, Alte; thatfOPtf&s promoted to the 
expresl;! Wti5R$l^l&£<MI i&Wi^t'fend London, 



up one day and down the next. That posi- 
tion I held until the 8th of July, 1868, when 
I was appointed locomotive foreman for 
Exeter, having in addition the supervision of 
all the signals and the gas and carriage de- 
partments from Yeovil to Bideford. In 1872 
I was appointed district chief foreman for 
the Western District, from Basingstoke to all 
stations in the West of England. Ten years 
later I was removed from Exeter to Ixmdon 
to take charge of the running department 
of the London and Southwestern Railway, 
which position I have held ever since/' 

Asked if he had had any accident while 
working as an engineman, Mr. Higgs said : — 

" I have never met with any serious 

it across the road. Fortunately I saw him and 
pulled up in time. When he perceived that 
he was discovered, he ran away across the 
fields. 1 got down from my engine, and 
chased and caught him. He tried hard to 
get away; hut 1 brought him to my engine, 
and carried him on to Creditor!, where I 
handed him over to the police. I afterwards 
gave evidence against him at Exeter, and he 
was sentenced to five years' penal servitude/' 

" Through seeing the man's attempt, then, 
you prevented a fearful accident ? !i 

" It must have been terrible, as we carried 
a great number of passengers. For my 
conduct on that occasion our directors gave 
me a silver medal and five pounds*" 

Fr&m a.) 



accident, but was once scalded very severely 
in the execution of my duties* It occurred 
in October, 1862, and was caused by the 
heating apparatus giving out 1 was laid up 
for five or six months. In 1863, a man 
attempted to throw me off the road with the 
mails coming over the North Devon line from 
Bideford to Exeter, Fortunately I managed 
to bring the train to a stand before any serious 
result occurred. Had I not stopped the 
train when I did, it would have been pre- 
cipitated through a bridge into a river, 1 ' 

"Did the man place something on the 

" Yes • he took a gate off its hinges and laid 

"Is it customary for your directors to reward 
such conduct?" 

" Yes ; I have been rewarded on several 
occasions for preventing accidents and serious 
loss of life. I am happy to say that, during 
all my career, I have had to attend but one 
inquest on a person run over. This was at a 
level crossing, I never broke down on the 
road but twice. Once I broke the driving 
axle on an engine called the 'St. George,' 
but managed to bring the train on to the next 
station. I broke down once afterwards on 
the Exeter line, During all my career I 
have never travelled in. a train where the 



time been travelling in a railway train where 
anything has gone wrong with the train." 

"The engin eman is better cared for now 
than formerly, is he not ? " 

"As the engine has been improved, his 
position has been improved, too. A major 
consideration now, in constructing an engine, 
is the comfort of the driver When I first 
went on to an engine there was nothing but 
a small hand-rail to prevent the men from 
falling off the footplate. There was nothing 
like the present protecting plates or cabs for 
the comfort of the men." 

"Are your men, Mr. Higgs, allowed a 
premium for economy in the use of coal ?" 

"Yes; there is a certain quantity of fuel 
allowed per mile. Express engines are 
allowed 271b- per mile — that is, on the best 
engines. Double duty men are allowed 
281b. ; Southampton goods 28IU, Yeovil and 
Exeter goods men 3olb,, 
and in many cases these 
quantities are not con- 
sumed. We give a premium 
in this way : the men who 
show the least consumption 
of fuel on their engines and 
keep the best time receive 
— the driver 20s* and fire- 
man 1 os. each four weeks." 

"I suppose, Mr. Higgs, 
when the Queen travels 
over the South ■ Western 
line, it falls to your lot to 
accompany the train ? " 

" Yes ; whe never Her 
Majesty travels on our line, 
I go on the engine. You 
see, it is necessary for some- 
one to be on the train who would know 
what to do in case anything went wrong. 
One can never foresee what might take 
place, especially on a line like that from 
Windsor to Gosport, between which places 
there are no fewer than fourteen or fifteen 
junctions. The best run I ever did with 
Royalty on board was early last year, when 
we fetched the Prince and Princess of Wales 
from Wirn borne. W T hen I left London there 
was a dense fog. The Prince asked me 
what the weather was like in London, I 
said if there proved to be as much fog on 
the way as I had left in London, w T e should 
arrive two or three hours late. As a matter 
of fact, we found the fog in patches — here 
and there very dense, while here and 
there we found it quite clear, Whenever we 
got into the fog we had to crawl along, feel- 
ing our way and going along very cautiously ; 

but as soon as ever we got a bit of clear day- 
light, I made her waltz along, Once or twice 
I put her to sixty-five miles an hour. When 
we reached Waterloo the finger was just 
on the point of twelve : we had done the 
journey to the minute. Our general manager 
was very pleased at the splendid run we had 
made, and so was the Prince/' 

William l.awrence said: "I began on the 
Great Western in 1839, at Maidenhead. I 
then migrated to Twyford, where I was 
fitter's assistant I subsequently became 
fireman and then driver. I joined the South- 
western in 1849, a "d ran from Nine Elms to 
Southampton with goods. Was advanced to 
the passenger work in 1851. In the month 
of November that year I was transferred to 
Twickenham, and ran from Twickenham to 
l^ondon and Windsor, In 1856 I came 
from Twickenham to Windsor, and continued 
to run betwixt here and 
London until 1881, when I 
met with a serious accident 
from a collision between 
Wraysbury and Datchet, 
which occurred on the \ 8th 
of January in that year." 

" What was the nature of 
the accident? " 

" Two trains were snowed 
up between Wraysbury and 
Datchet, and they tele- 
graphed to Windsor for 
help, I and my mate were 
sent on with our engine. 
When we got to Wraysbury 
we did not know whether 
to go on or not, and so 
waited for information. In 
the meantime four engines had come up 
from London and had worked their way 
through, and not knowing I was on the line 
they ran smash into me. My mate had 
got off the engine and had asked me for 
the shovel. He wanted to keep himself 
warm by shovelling away the snow. Sud- 
denly he says, * Look out, mate ! ' But 
before I knowed where I was, the engines 
had struck my engine, I was knocked down 
and my left leg broken. The engine was 
sent along for some distance by the con 
cussiom Then it stopped, and the engines 
struck it again. I was banged about once 
more, and half the coals in the tender heaped 
upon me. I had my senses all the time, and 
knew what was going on, but I was pretty 
well done fon My left leg was broken in 
two places, my right hip was put out, my jaw 
was broken, and 1 was otherwise hurt. I 


From a Photograph. 



was in the hospital a long time, but finally 
came out as you see me. I'm able to get 
about a bit, but I think I should have been 
all right and able to go about my work, but 
for the hip being put out/' 

Although Lawrence said this, he did not 
look like a man who, even without the dis- 
located hip - joint, would be fit for much 
service. His broken jaw had resulted in 
permanent lockjaw, which, though he was 
enabled to talk well enough, prevented him 
from taking any but liquid or semi-liquid 
nourishment by means of a spoon* 

Nor was this 
finishing acci- 
dent the only one 
that Lawrence 
had been in. In 
1851 he was dis- 
abled for some 
time by an acci- 
dent which re- 
sulted in the loss 
of one of the fin- 
gers of his right 
hand. It was 
caused by an 
operation which 
was then all but 
universal, but 
which is now 
well-nigh for- 
gotten by all ex- 
cept old railway 
men, namely, the 
u roping-in " of 
trains into ter- 
minal stations. 
In those days an 
engine was not 
allowed to go 
into a terminal 
station, but was 
hauled in by a 
rope, the engine 
being unhooked 
and run into a 
siding for that 
purpose. On the 
occasion in question, the man who had hooked 
the rope on to the engine and was going to 
hook on the train rolled down the embank- 
ment, Lawrence then got down from his 
engine and was about to hook on the rope, 
when he got his hand entangled by some 
means in the footboard, with the result that 
his finger was broken in several places, 

Lawrence, who notwithstanding his many 
accidents is still full of spirit, described 

Vol. '■ riii, ■ 30, 


f'ro)i\ a Phcio. fey II. 

his experience at St. Thomas's Hospital with 
much humour. "When," he said, "the 
head doctor looked a: my finger, says he, 
'You had better have it off. If we fix it 
up for you it will be stiff, and you will be 
poking It where you should not do.' Says I, 
1 Doctor, you know your business and I know 
mine, so you just do what you think best,' 
With that he winks to a student, who outs with 
a lancet, makes a cut this way, a cut that way, 
and then across, and the finger was off — just 
as quick as that ; and I hardly felt it But 
when it came to joining the leaders— Oh, my 

eye ! Didn't it 
pay me out ? But 
they made a good 
job of it" 

" Had you any 
other accident ? " 
" Yes, I was in 
a rather serious 
one in 1859 or 
s 6o. It occurred 
to the n.25 tra * n 
from here (Wind- 
sor), between 
Ashford and 
Feltham, The 
rails had come 
away from the 
sleepers, and w^ 
ran right into a 
wheat-field, the 
train turning 
upon its side on 
a hedge. When 
I felt the engine 
going I jumped 
right over the 
fireman. He 
followed suit. 
When we found 
ourselves on the 
ground my mate 
says to ine, says 
he, ' Bill, are you 
hurt ? ' I says, 
* No, I'm not 
hurt, mate. Are 
you ? J * No,' says he ; 'so lets thank Cod 
that neither of us is hurt.' Then he sug- 
gested that we should go and look at the 
train and see if anybody was injured. We 
peeped down the funnels to see who was in 
the carriages. There weren't many passen- 
gers in the train. But there w r as an old 
lady in a first-class compartment, along 
with a little Jjiri, vyha was screaming and 
.kUtt^fiwit hjllabaW^Ai'teo we fetched 


making a gi 



assistance and set to work to get them out. 
But it wasn't an easy matter, for the trai . 
was on its side, and the carriage door was 
locked- Howsomdevers, we got the window 
open, and soon had the little girl out all 
right But it was quite a different affair with the 
old girl, for she was eighteen stone if a pound. 
After considering a bit, my mate gets in 
through the window and tells the old lady to 
mount on the arm of one of the seats. Then 
he gives her a bump up behind, and me and 
another as we got to help us pulls up above, 
and presently, him thrusting and us pulling, we 
brought her out safe and sound. But it was 
a tough bit of worlq and for a time it seemed 
as though she was going to stick, half-way in 
and half-way out* She was a good deal 
frightened, hut not hurt ; neither was any- 
body else in the train, 1 ' 

"And since your accident in 1881, you 
have been pensioned by the company ? w 

"Yes, I have been able to do nothing 
since then, and the company has very kindly 
looked after me." 

The following have been selected as typical 
drivers on the South- Western Railway : — 

John Dear, seventy-five years of age, said 
he began his career on the railway in 1837, 
After a short experience on the London and 
Birmingham Railway, he joined the South- 
western in 1840 as fireman, becoming a 
driver about 1842. He continued driving 
until 1884, when he was made inspector for 
the Windsor Station, having to look after the 
engines and men, which position he held 
until 1891, when — to use his own words — 
" in consequence of ill-health the directors 
kindly granted me a pension, as they do to 
all their old servants," 

Dear continued : ** I ran a passenger train 
between Nine Kims (the London terminus 
at that time) to Southampton till the end of 
1849. Then, on the opening of the Windsor 
branch fin 1850), I was shifted to Datchet ; 
and when the line was completed I ran 
between London and Windsor," 

£( Were you ever in an accident ? " 

" I was in an accident at Richmond once, 
when a man ran out of the yard and met 
me with a ballast engine. I was coming 
from London with the 5-50 train. I saw the 
ballast engine coming and ducked down, 
and so escaped being hit with the pinch-bar, 
which, by the concussion, was sent thirty or 
forty yards. If I had not ducked, it would 
have gone right through me. As it was, one 
of the taps went against my chest and broke 
my breast-bone. I have suffered with my 
chest in consequence ever since, A collision 

of that sort could not occur now. It was a 
ballast engine going to Nine Elms. The 
driver of the engine let himself out of the 
yard, thinking 1 had gone by. They could 
let themselves anywhere in those days. That 
was about 1845 or '46. Both the engines were 
smashed. I went to work again almost im- 
mediately. I never had a day's illness till I 
had that accident. I do not think I ever 
lost a day's work through ill-health. I had 
many narrow squeaks; but I did not think 
much of them in those days. In later times 
driving was much better and safer. When 
I began there were no ( distant ' signals and 
no e home ' signals, and we had to clamber 
over the coke to get at the brake, which was 
at the end of the tender It was both 
dangerous and very rough work. We wore 
a pair of boots out almost every fortnight by 
going over the coke/ 1 

Charles Payne, who started on the Great 
Western Railway, and had had eight years 1 
experience on it before joining the South- 
western, said that he had been forty-six years 
in the service of the latter — twenty-six of 
which had been spent as a locomotive fire- 
man, and eighteen as a driver. He described 
several accidents in which he had been con- 
cerned The first was at Ashe, where his 
train came into collision with a ballast train, 
which ought to have cleared before he 
arrived. When he saw that a collision was 
inevitable, he jumped off the engine and 
told his mate to jump. They both of them 
got off unhurt. The two men on the ballast 
train, however, were badly injured. 

Iff* -' Original ffa 






The next accident he had was near Shalford 
Junction. It was caused by some young 
colts getting on to the line. When the engine 
struck them, the concussion caused the 
engine to leave the metals. Fortunately, it 
ran into the " six-foot," and so no great 
damage was done to the train itself, but two 
of the colts were killed, one of them being 
cut up into mince-meat by the wheels of the 
engine and carriages. 

Most drivers have had experience of cattle 
getting on the line, but it is not all who have 
had the experience of a driver who used to 
run over one of the western lines threading 
a well-preserved country. Game was in 
abundance, and frequently coveys of birds 
were seen on the line. One day, however, 
while going slowly up a steep incline with a 
goods train, he astonished his mate by 
stepping down from his engine, getting over 
the fence into a field, and immediately after- 
wards returning with two live hares. As 
they were going up the incline he saw the 
two hares fighting* When they do this they 
sit on their hind-quarters and go at it like 
two boxers. This they generally do in such 
a blind rage that they may be approached 
unnoticed. Our driver knew this, and so 
quietly went up to them and took first one 
and then the other by the scruff of the neck, 
as he put it, and then walked off with them 
to his engine. 

But to return to 
Between Swindon and 
bank known as Brown 
five miles in length, 
and the incline is 1 in 
70. Going down this 
bank one frosty 
morning, when the 
line was " greasy/' he 
found that there had 
been a fall of rock 
just before he arrived, 
which had doubled 
up the line, and 
which resulted in 
throwing the engine 
off the road, together 
with some of the car- 
riages. One large 
stone went under- 
neath the engine and 
stripped off the feed- 
pipes, and then bent 
the axle of the ten- 
der. He stuck to the 

Payne's ex perie n ccs. 
Gloucester there is a 
Rock, This bank is 

U!\HI.KS lLKii>\. 

engine and brought the train to a stand. 
Fortunately no one was hurt. 

On another occasion, while going with the 
mail train over this same bank, he felt the 
engine give a sudden lurch. He afterwards 
learned that the bank had sunk over 
eighteen inches while he was going over it. 
It was only the speed at which they were 
travelling that saved them. The depth 
below the bank was sixty feet, so that, had 
they gone over, the carnage would have 
been terrible, " I often shudder when I 
think of the near escape we had/' Payne 

Charles Turton, like Payne, is stationed at 
Guildford. He is sixty -seven years of age, 
and was last year still at work driving an 
engine from Guildford to Farn borough 
and Ascot; having been forty-six years in 
the service of the South - Western Rail- 
way Company, One of his chief recollec- 
tions is driving troop trains during the early 
part of the Crimean War. He considers 
that he has been very fortunate as regards 
accidents, never having been in a serious 
one> although he has had his quota of break- 

Once when driving between Guildford 
and Alton his driving-wheel broke, He 
got out his tools, uncoupled the wheel, 
packed it up, and drove into Alton with 
one side only working- He prides himself 
on always having been able to take his 
engines to their destination. One Sunday 
night t going to Guildford with the 9 p,m. 

train, he had the mis- 
fortune to break the 
right trailing axle 
when between Sur- 
biton and Esher. 
He managed to pack 
it up against the box 
of the wheel, and 
work on to Guildford 
and Godalming. 

It should be said 
now, if it has not 
been already, that it 
is part of the train- 
ing of a driver to 
learn enough of en- 
gineering to be able 
to take out his tools 
and rectify any little 
mishap that may 
occur to his engine 
on the road. 

Ftum el rKuUt, h$ W $haiFcro*i+ Guild f^ni 

(~* rxrui] " Original from 


Most Truly One, 

By Edward Salmon. 

OOD-BYE, darling; good- 
bye, Mr. Marston." 

u Now, then, any more for 
the shore? Who's for the 

u Bon voyage, sweetheart; 
come back strong and well" 

" Who's for the shore ? Tender's waiting. 
Mind that rope, sir/ 

The last words were addressed to a hand- 
some, pale-faced man of some twenty -six years, 
who had just torn 
himself from the 
arms of a lady on 
board an Orient 
liner at anchor off 
Tilbury. He was 
but one of many 
saying farewell to 
friends bound for 
the other side of 
the globe, perhaps 
never to return. 

As Walter Ter- 
rell stepped on to 
the ladder at the 
ship's side, hot 
tears were in his 
eyes, and he dared 
not look. The 
parting with Lena 
Mars ton, the 
woman he hoped 
ere another year 
was over their 
heads to make his 
wife, was harder 
than he had antici- 
pated. He loved 
her with a love 
which he had 
never given to 
anyone else ; in 
this hour of part- 
ing he felt that it 
was perhaps un- 
wise she should 
ever leave him, 
and as the tender 

moved away from the huge vessel and the 
water flowed between them, he wished from 
the bottom of his heart that she were not going. 
She stood at the ship's side throwing kisses 
to him, and he returned them fervently. Not 
till now had the voyage, which the doctors 

declared to be so important for her health's 
sake and which she was taking with her 
father to Australia, and the prospect of six 
months' or more separation, been fraught with 
such intangible terrors, 

But the screw of the tender revolved with 
cruel indifference to the thoughts of the 
love-sick man, and ere he reached the shore 
the ocean-going vessel itself began to move. 
Now that it was impossible to do so, he 
asked himself why had he not gone round 
to Plymouth with her ? Then he wondered 

whether the im- 
mutable decrees 
of Providence 
would permit him 
to see her again, 
and a silent prayer 
went up from his 
heart that he 
might not only 
see her again, but 
see her with that 
glow of health on 
her cheeks to 
which they had 
been a stranger 
since he had 
known her. Any 
way, their love in 
the time to come 
should be, and no 
doubt would be, 
only the more 
firmly and deeply 
rooted for this 

Walter Terrell 
waited with an im- 
patience and an 
anxiety which he 
could neither ex- 
plain nor reason 
away for the letter 
which Lena pro- 
mised she would 
post at Plymouth, 
and which he 
received in due 
course It was 
just the letter he expected --warm, loving, 
hopeful But it contained one item that 
served to strengthen the curious sense of 
misgiving which had taken possession of 
him. She had met on board the brother of 
a schAiWIiV'flri^Ti fri&st deli^MtfWl man whose 





acquaintance she made some years ago, when 
he was a mere boy. Was it jealousy at Walter 
Terrell's heart? Not for a moment would 
he admit any such thing, but an he sat down 
to reply to Lena's letter he knew that doubt 
coloured his words. 

A second letter from her left matters where 
they were, For the life of him he could not 
say why, but the fact remained, that an idea, 
a foreboding, had crept into his soul which 
ought never to have found a lodgment there. 
In vain he sought to dispel it. The result 
was inevitable. He grew thoroughly miserable 
and out of sorts, and try as he would to 
assure himself that he was taking an un- 
reasonable view of things j that view pre- 

The truth was that Walter Terrell needed a 
voyage as much as Lena Marston. A man 
of some means, enough, at any rate, to keep 
him without work if he chose to live very 
modestly, he adopted the profession of letters, 
and pegged away at his manuscripts day and 
night like the veriest hack. More than once 
his doctor had warned him that if he persisted 
in taxing his nervous energy as he did, disaster 
was inevitable, but he was warned in 
vain, He suffered considerably with 
his eyes, and their weakness bothered 
him and hampered his work. He was 
now writing a book on political 
economy, and was putting into it re- 
search and thought which he hoped 
would place his name in the forefront. 
Only the necessity of not breaking 
the continuity of his labours induced 
him to abandon all notion of going to 
Australia with Lena Marston and her 

Even at the end of some six 
weeks, 'when he received a letter 
from Colombo, he had not shaken 
off the despondent fit. He tried 
to conceal it from her in his reply, 
and then threw himself into a 
learned, exhaustive, and exhaust- 
ing dissertation on the laws of 
supply and demand. What a pity 
he could not apply to himself the 
moral of the dependence of the 
two ! The demands he made on 
his energy were undoubtedly 
greater than the supply, and that 
the latter should grow less and 
less, until it finally disappeared, 
was not wonderful. 

Walter Terrell finished that part 
of his task to rise from his desk 

one night and stagger across his den like one 
who had imbibed unwisely. He fell back 
into an arm-chair and faintness seized him. 
A million spots danced before his eyes. A 
crisis of some sort was at hand. With an 
effort he reached the bell-handle, pulled it 
hard, and remembered nothing more till he 
found himself on a bed with his doctor and 
man-servant beside him* As he opened his 
eyes he still saw. those strange spots before 
him, and the room was very dim. 

" Why don't you turn the gas up ? ? ' he asked* 

u It is full on, sir/' said his servant. 

" Really," he answered, " then my eyes are 
very bad to-night" 

"You must see an oculist, 11 put in the 
doctor, "and that without delay," 

It was the doctor's opinion that the weak- 
ness of Walter Terrell's eyes had saved a 
collapse of the whole man. With his eyes, 
unhappily, there was something seriously 
wrong, but he little realized how wrong f 

The next morning he went to the oculist 
and had them thoroughly examined. The 
eye-doctor considered the occasion one for 
plain speaking. 

i( You are," he said, bluntly, " in danger of 




going blind. By the utmost care it may be 
possible to save your eyes. But you must 
rest them entirely." 

" You do not mean to say that I may go 
blind, really ? " cried the unhappy man. 

" I do, indeed, I am sorry to say. Your 
eyes have been neglected and overtaxed. 
But I hope they are not beyond human skill 
to set right" 

The oculist probably knew his optimism 
to be unwarranted. Gradually Walter Ter- 
rell's sight faded. Day by day he under- 
went the most terrible of trials — that of 
waiting and watching whilst the eyes grow 
weaker and weaker, and the dread doom of 
darkness settles down. 

It was a time of nameless misery, of 
despair, of sullen resignation. To be blind ! 
Never to see God's light and the beauties of 
God's earth again ! How awful ! Even that 
could be endured if he had the love for 
which his soul yearned, now more than ever, 
and no question weighed with him more than 
that which recurred to him again and again : 
"What would Lena say to a blind man?" 
Could he ask her to marry him now ? Could 
he let her marry him? Fate had indeed 
borne out his forebodings with bitter irony. 
Would he, he had speculated, ever see his 
darling again? How little he anticipated 
the character of the answer to be given to 
the dread query. She might stand at his 
side, she might gaze into his eyes, she might 
press his hand, but he would never more be 
permitted to see her ! 

It seemed, however, as though Fate had 
not yet dealt with him as hardly as she 
intended. Weeks went by and no further 
letter came from Lena. Whac did it 
mean? At first his affliction proved so 
absorbing that he only realized vaguely the 
lapse of time. But now he began to wonder, 
and gradually another conviction seized him. 
As he would never see her again, neither 
would he ever hear from her again. 

" Merciful Heaven," he cried, " what have 
I done that these blows should fall so thick 
and fast? Why does not Lena write? I 
cannot believe her cruel and disloyal — and 
yet " 

He thought of writing to tell her all, but 
whilst he hesitated to dictate his inmost 
thoughts to another, something compelled him 
to await a communication from her, and that 
communication never came. Poor, crushed 
and broken Walter Terrell ! A few months 
had wrought a shocking change for him. 
The midday sun of youth had long ere the 
gloaming suffered an eclipse more complete 

and terrifying than night's darkest hour. 
Week succeeded week, and, philosopher as he 
was, he grew in time to accept his fate and 
even to persuade himself that it was better to 
have parted thus than to have faced the 
anguish of a separation demanded by duty. 
His dearest hopes were blighted; he was sorely 
disappointed in the girl for whom he cared 
so tenderly and so truly, and life was a 
blank. Her action was mysterious in the 
extreme. In his heart Walter Terrell 
believed she had repented of the promise 
she gave him, and lacked the courage to 
withdraw it, and he wished he had his eyes, 
if only that he might himself write and 
release her from it. 

The month which was originally to have 
seen her in London again was at hand. 
Would she return ? or would she take up her 
abode at the Antipodes as her schoolfellow's 
sister-in-law? The thought sent a knife to 
Walter Terrell's heart, and made his sightless 
eyes smart again in their helplessness. 


Little dreamed he of what really had hap- 
pened on the other side of the world. 

Lena Marston arrived in Australia all the 
better for her voyage, and her constant 
thought was of thejlelight Walter would ex- 
perience if this improvement continued. 

Her satisfaction was destined to be short- 
lived. At Melbourne she went to stay with 
some friends, and, the very day after her 
arrival, was taken seriously ill. Typhoid, 
that bane of Victoria's beautiful capital, 
seized her, and for some days her life was 
despaired of. She recovered only to find 
that the disease had robbed her of her hear- 
ing. She was deaf; and, in the doctor's 
opinion, doomed to remain so! 

At first the blow overwhelmed her, and she 
almost wished she had never regained her 
strength to learn the terrible fate in store 
for her. Her first concern was for Walter 
Terrell. During her illness a long letter 
reached her from him — the last he was 
destined to write under the guidance of his 
own eye (could she but have known it !) — 
and when she was better, she read it with 
eager joy. But what, she asked herself, would 
he say when he knew of the affliction which 
had overtaken her — his affianced bride ? 

She was not long in determining in which 
direction her duty lay. She could not 
reasonably expect him to marry her if deaf- 
ness was to be her lot during the rest of her 
life, and the doctors gave her no hope save 
in a miracle, For diiys shs lay in her sound- 




less world turning over the dread prospect 
Sometimes the thought of the long years of 
silence before her nearly drove her mad ; at 
others she accepted her fate calmly. 

" If only my affliction did not involve my 
love, I could bear with it," she said again and 

When at length she was permitted to use 
a pen, she courageously faced the ordeal of 
writing to Walter Terrell, to tell him every- 
thing, to assure him of her undying love, and 
to release him from an engagement which 
could never be fulfilled Hot tears fell from 
her eyes as she penned sentence after 
sentence, palpitating with her heart's blood ; 
but it was her duty, and bitter as it was, she 
performed it with a relentless disregard of 

True, there was a conviction at her heart 
that the man she loved would never give her 
up, but she attempted to smother it even as 
it grew. There would be for her now no 
marriage, no realization of life's dearest hope 
and ambition ; yet she looked forward to 
the date when a reply might reach her with 
an anxiety which belied the sincerity of 
her assumption that Walter and she must 
necessarily part 

But no reply came. Then, clear as noon- 
day, she thought she saw it all : Walter had 
not the heart to write and resign hen He 
had simply allowed their love to go by the 
board, like a mast which it was hopeless and 
dangerous to attempt to preserve* 

(1 He might have written one line to say 

Lin well —farewell ! " was the only 
comment she made to herself. 

And thus two hearts that should 
have been one went their several 
ways, each believing of the other that 
which was not true. There 
was little to return to the old 
country for now, and Lena 
Marston prolonged her stay 
in Australia accordingly. 


A year or more has 
elapsed, and Walter 
Terrell has mas- 
tered his great 
sorrow. He has 
engaged an aman- 
uensis and settled 
down to work with 
him. He also occa- 
sionally goes out to 
parties and func- 
tions of interest 
when he can get a friend to look after him + 
Such a friend he has found to pioneer him 
on a certain night when he is invited to a 
grand reception given by a lady whose 
husband has made a fortune as an Australian 
squatter, and is starting a fine establishment 
in London, 

He has been in Mrs* Monk swell's drawing- 
room some half-hour, and is standing with 
his back to the door, talking to an elderly 
dame, when he hears the names announced : 
l( Mr, and Miss Marston!" Then through 
the crowd he feels Instinctively they are 
coming his way, and by some extraordinary 
intuition he knows that the new-comers are 
the lady who should have been his bride and 
her father. His whole frame is instantly 
suffused with emotion, and he controls him- 
self with great difficulty. 

She is approaching ■ she whom he has 
loved and loves ; she who left him in his 
misery — albeit, she knew p it not — to solitude 
and despair, 

41 Do you happen to know what Marstons 
they who have just entered are ? " he asks of 
his companion, with a vain attempt at hiding 
his concern, 

" They are recently back from Melbourne 
— they came home in the ship which restored 
dear Mr, and Mrs, Monkswell to London. 
Do you know them ? " 

Before Walter could make any sort of reply 
the good lady had turned aside with the 
words : — L 

" 14NJ UJF&fflf «Sfi^lMH^H, how are you ? 

29 2 


and you, Mr. Marston? So glad to see you 

What would the sightless man have given 
then for one seconds gaze into the face of 
Lena Marston ? What should he do ? 
Would she recognise him ? Yes, his face 
was the same, his eyes were as blue as of old. 
A stifled cry told him she had seen him, and 
guided by Providence alone, he proffered his 
hand, and it was caught in the firm but 
gentle grip he remembered so vividly. 

« Walter ! "— 4i Lena ! " 

At that instant someone attracted the 
attention of Mr, Marston, and the two lovers 
of old were left for a moment in that corner 
unmolested. Walter forgot that he had ever 
made up his mind that she had given herself 
to another; he realized only that she was 
before lum t and he asked as one who has a 
right to ask : — 

" Why did you not write? " 

He gazed intently with those poor blind 
eyes of his into her face, and she answered :— 

" I did write ; why did you never give me 
one word in reply ? " 

" What do you mean ? " he answered, 
vaguely. " Tell me — is there any quieter 
corner than this 
where we can 
talk? Will you 
lead me ? " 

"Lead you?" 
she said, inquir- 
ingly. « Why ? 
Can't you walk 
alone ? " 

"Yes, but 
don't you know 
my trouble? But 
how should you ? 
Lena, I am — 
blind ! and I 
can't see you or 
a thing," 

"Walter, you 
can't mean that 
—how shocking! 
how terrible! 
and I never to 
know ! Why did 
you not write ? 
Why leave me in 
ignorance? I 
wrote and told 
you my trouble 
and all I had 
gone through, 11 

" All you had gone through, I^ena ? 
How — in what way ? I received no 
communication from you after you left 

u Then you do not know that I too am 
afflicted ? That I am deaf — deaf, as you are 

" Impossible ! How can you be deaf, and 
yet hear what I say ? " 

l£ I can't hear you, I have not heard a 
word you have said. I have learnt to lip- 
read, and fortunately have become so expert 
in the art that my eyes are now most 
excellent substitutes for my ears." 

Walter Terrell stood aghast. Had anything 
more wonderful, more remarkable than this 
been written in story-book? She was deaf: 
he was blind ; and yet they were holding 
converse as though they had all their faculties 
complete and unimpaired. 

No need is there to follow Walter Terrell 
and Lena Marston through the long explana- 
tions which occupied their talk that night and 
during the meetings of many days to come, 
nor to indicate the certain result of their 
reunion. The impediments to their free 
intercourse were not in- 
superable, and these two 
so strangely parted, and 
more strangely brought to- 
gether again, were destined 
to become man and wife 
after all Their love was 
superior to 
earthly woes, and 
never surely were 
man and wife 
more truly one, 
She was his eyes 
on essential occa- 
sions, and he was 
her ears when 
rendered the 
organ of sight 
no substitute for 
that of sound. 
Bitterly afflicted 
as they had been, 
they found in 
their mutual 
love a solace 
which they, and 
they alone, could 
appreciate at its 
true value, 



;v7 ■ 
■IP ■- 
Wi^PBBKi*Qrkjiinal from 

An Expert in Handwriting. 

By Harry How. 

would not be possible within 
the limits of this paper to 
enter fully into the methods 
employed by handwriting ex- 
perts in "treating" the pro- 
blems of penmanship which 
they have been called upon to solve. Hand- 
writing experts are not amongst the many 
— they are only to be found amongst the 
fewest of the few. They recognise what may 
be said to be the creator of their art, litho- 
graphy — which was accidentally discovered 
by Johann Aloys Senefelder — for lithography 
has bred the rare gift which the handwriting 
expert possesses to-day. 

Johann Aloys Senefelder was born at 
Prague in 1771, and died in 1834. It is a 
romantic, an historical, story. Wishing to 
publish musical compositions of his own, he 
tried various experiments with stereotype 
plates, and etching on copper and pewter 
plates, but was far from successful. He tried 
the Solenhefen stone, etching it similarly to 
the plates, but his proofs in no way satisfied 
him. In 1796 — he was just twenty-five 
years of age — his mother asked him to write 
out a list of the linen given to the laundress. 
He took up a polished stone, and wrote the list 
on it with his ink of soap and lampblack, 
with the intention of copying it on paper 
when convenient. Finding the writing tena- 
cious to the stone, he etched the uncovered 
parts with acid, inked the relief portions 
with a dabber, and taking off a proof found 
it successful. Thus, lithography in relief was 
invented. Various improvements followed 
until the discovery was perfected. 

It is admitted by all experts in hand- 
writing that a keen knowledge of lithography 
is absolutely essential to the true exercise 
of their peculiar craft. The eye and the 
hand have been trained to observe and copy 
all the peculiarities and eccentricities of 
writers — a training absolutely necessary to 
one who practises as an expert in hand- 
writing. Mr. Joseph Netherclift, the first 
recognised expert ; his son, Mr. F. G. Nether- 
clift, and Mr. Charles Chabot were all litho- 
graphers — as were also Messrs. Mathieson, 
MacQuarrie, Rae, and the subject of this 
sketch, Mr. George Smith Inglis. 

Mr. Inglis may be signalled out as the first 
amongst handwriting experts of the present 

Vol.viii-40. QQ 

day. He is an Edinburgh man, and was 
born in 1831. True, he was a good writer at 
school, and his writing-master would point 
out his " p's " and " q's " as a pattern to 
the class ; but, by an accident, he was ap- 
prenticed to a lithographer, and there gained 
a knowledge which to-day is invaluable 
to him. Although in his sixty-fourth year, 
his eye is as keen and susceptible, his 
methods of working as safe and sure, as 
they were when, on the death of Mr. Charles 
Chabot, he received the St. Luke's Mystery 
Case, which Chabot had in hand at the time 
of his decease. 

I have watched Mr. Inglis at work. He will 
watch a " t " for an hour at a time, and revel in 
the loop of a " j " for a similar period. He twists 
it this way and that way, writes out a single 
word a hundred times — and a hundred times 
is no figure of expression, but a fact ! He 
picks up his compasses, and compares lengths 
and breadths of dots and dashes. A comma, 
a semicolon, a full stop — one might almost 
say a blot does not escape that little pair of 
compasses. He positively glories in a note 
of exclamation ; a questionable interrogation 
is a " sphinx " to him, and he attacks it, to 
discover its origin, with as much ardour as 
though he were called upon to decipher the 
diary which Noah penned in the ark. 

Mr. Inglis is not only an expert, he is an 
enthusiast ; and I propose, in this article, 
to refer to a few of the many remarkable 
cases which have been brought under his 

The individuality of " Junius " has always 
been the pet theme and study of all experts 
in handwriting. The handwriting of "Junius" 
is the great problem of all experts. It has 
puzzled and perplexed all who have sought 
to prove the identity of the man who wrote 
it. The letters of "Junius" consist of a series 
of political missives signed " Junius," which 
appeared in The Public Advertiser ■ — a 
London newspaper. The first was published 
in the issue of January 21, 1769, and the last 
in that of January 21, 1772. The consterna- 
tion which these letters created amongst the 
Ministries of the day is a matter of history, 
as they not # only attached the public works 
of the parties . concerned, but their private 
doings also. 

Pages upon parces have been written en 

or 1 1 ■ _ • 1 11 




the handwriting of 
" Junius," though pos- 
sibly — from a popular 
pointof view — the roman- 
tic side of the query lies 
in the set of verses which 
have been conclusively 
proved to be in the hand- 
writing of Sir Philip 
Francis.* Reproduced in 
these pages are facsimiles 
of some of the li nes wri tten 
by Sir Francis, addressed 
to Miss Giles, a lady with 
whom he danced at the 
Assembly Rooms at 
Bath (Fig. 5). Let these, 
as well as the dates in 
Fig. 1, be compared with 
the date on the Junian 
Letter XVL, in which the 
writer apparently forgot 
to disguise his writing or 
to obliterate it afterwards. 
This is one clue. The 
note accompanying the 
verses was written by Sir 
Francis in disguised writ- 
ing (Fig. 4), which may 
be compared with the 
corrections on the Junian 
proof (Fig. 3). This 
is a second clue. 
"Junius" — in other 
words, Sir Philip 
Francis — was evi- 
dently enamoured 
of the' young 
maiden, for shortly 
after the ball she re- 
ceived an anony- 
mous letter, couch- 
ed in the following 
words : — 

"The inclosed papei of verses was found 
this morning by accident. The person who 
found them, not knowing to whom they 
belong, is obliged to trust to his own judge- 
ment, and takes it for granted that they could 
only be meant for Miss Giles." 

A very charming compliment indeed, and 
one which, on the surface, might carry with it 
the conviction that the sender of the note 
and the writer of the poetry were one and 
the same. Here are two of the verses : — 

In the School of the Graces, by Venus attended, 
Belinda improves every Hour ; 

•yitfe " Junius Revealed." By his grandson, H. R. Francis. 

Digitized' by W 

They tell her that Beauty itself may be mended, 
And shew her the Use of her Power. 

They directed her Eye, they pointed the Dart, 
And have taugh*. her a dangerous Skill ; 

For whatever She aims at, the Head or the Heart, 
She can wound, if She pleases, or kill, 




4& A>m /ijt^/t 



I have but briefly alluded to " Junius," To 
dissect him thoroughly would occupy all the 
space of many issues of this Magazine ; but, 
as it has ever been the great work of all 
handwriting experts down to Mr* Inglis, no 
paper 3 however small, would be complete 
without a glance at this penmanship problem- 
Mr Inglis has been associated with many 
wills of a remarkable character- As to 
his peculiar abilities in this direction, 
the words of Mr. Justice Denman at the 
Swansea Assizes, of July, 1887, might be 
quoted : "Now, the expert (Mr, Inglis) 
himself comes, and I must say, after 
having seen many experts in courts 
of justice, I think I may compliment that 
expert on this : he appears to have taken 
great pains to see whether the thing would 
hold water or not, and whether he is sound 
or not, and whether you adopt his view or 
not. At all events, every observation he has 
made seems to me to be one which calls 
your attention to a thing worth observing." 

These remarks gathered round the Thomas 
Hughes Will Case. Here the expert was 
called to prove that the signature to the will 
was not a genuine one. He compared the 
signature with that on his daily time-sheets, 
one of which the deceased had to sign every 
morning, Mr. Inglis obtained a sheet which 
Thomas Hughes had signed on the very day 
he was supposed to have signed the will, and 
the expert stated — as did also a brother of the 


deceased — that in his estimation it was not a 
genuine signature. A relation of the testator 
was desired by the judge to write in his 
presence. She did so ; and the reader can 
form his own opinion as to who really 
wrote the signature when he compares the 
test writing, by the relation, with the signature 
on the will 


&W2 /b>0 



The Whalley Will Case was a perfect 
little puzzle — successfully solved by Mr. 
Inglis. James Whalley, although he died 
worth something approaching ^70,000, was 
a typical miser* and rented rooms in a 
cottage at 9s. a week. He was a retired iron- 
master, and resided with a railway porter at 
Leominster, While on his death-bed, his 
landlord wrote a letter in pencil on his 
behalf to his son at Derby, Mr, Whalley 
signed his name and the date in ink* His 
son never received the letter. Mr. Whalley 
rallied somewhat, and hopes were entertained 
of his recovery. The son visited him* and 
the old man showed him the will he had 
made, and where it would be found amongst 
his papers in case of his death- The son 
observed that one of the witnesses was 

the supervisor of the cen- 
- sus papers. Mr, Whalley 

jr**** died on a Saturday 

morning, at nine o'clock. 


) be sent to the Office before 


No telegram was sent 
to the son until the 
afternoon, after the last 
cross-country train had 
left Derby ; consequently 
he did not arrive at Leo- 

minster until the following 



y ^ : 


day. After the funeral 
a will was read. The 
son immediately chal- 
lenged its genuine- 
ness — it was not the 
one his father had 
shown him, he said. 
Finding the will could 
not be upset, a com- 
promise was made : 
the deceased's land- 
lord to receive one- 
third, the son one- 
third, and the other 
third to go to another 
person. However, the 
fraud was eventually 


solicitor received certain information, and, 
on meeting one of the witnesses, quietly 
asked what they did with the loaf of 
bread in regard to Mr. WhaJley's will. 

It was ultimately proved that the 
envelope containing the genuine will had 
been steamed, and the will abstracted. 
The pencil letter was rubbed out with 
bread, a new and spurious will written 
above the signature of James Whalley, 
and the document placed in the envelope, 
leaving the gum mark of previous fasten- 
ing. Mr. Inglis examined the will at 
Somerset House, and detected the groove 
marks where the pencil marks had been 
(the landlord, being a railway porter, 
wTote rather heavily). He was shown 
the handwriting of a number of persons, 
and noticing a similarity between two or 
three of them with the groove-marked 
words, he was able to prove it to be 
5 identical with the landlord's writing. 
58 The landlord and one of his accom- 
> plices — the third party turned Queen's 
« evidence — are at the present moment 
h partaking of Her Majesty's hospitality, 
h in a building specially erected for gentle- 
| men who need a compulsory holiday, 
| with apartments provided. 
S A holograph will case also forms an 

j interesting study. It was written in 
% violet ink. There was one word on the 
i eighth line which was blotted and re- 
i quired deciphering. It appeared blurred, 
| the alteration being wiped with used 
g blotting-paper while the ink was wet. 
H The spreading of the ink made a blur 
which looked like the word " One," but 
after careful scrutiny the expert believed 
the word first written w r as " Five." Mr. 
Inglis found the capital Fs in three parts 
of the will would go inside the blurred capital 
" O " of " One," but he also discovered in the 
slurred writing part of the "F" outside the 
" O " at the top left hand. The sloping 
initiatory line of the " i," and the dot to it 
are split. This dot agreed with the others in 
the will in being split. The horizontal line 
from top of " v " to the " e " are all solid 
lines, not blurred ones. 

Mr. Justice Butt, in giving his decision on 
this case, proved that he possessed a rare 
knack in "arguing" a disputed letter. He 
said it could not be " One," at first, for, if so, 
there was no necessity to alter it ; nor the 
word " two," for there were not sufficient 
strokes to make it a "w," and no "o" 
finishes with a horizontal line at the bottom. 
It could not be fI three/' it is too small, and 




> * 

/L*^^t*i~S!>6 n * * * >£-/t* 

9 x * t- m 


— rf*^' 

there is no " h " ; it could not be " four," 
there are not sufficient strokes to make that 
word ; it could not be " six," the letters are 
not of the form of " ix " ; neither could it 
be " seven," the strokes are not sufficient ; nor 
"eight," there being no tail for a "g," or 
top loop for an " h " ; " nine " is a longer 
word ; whilst as for " ten " hundred, that 
would most likely be written " one thousand." 

*.•■"*. •S=---'' 


S? JL 


-*— I /0 

V£-«- /z. 



It must, therefore, have been the word 
"yfov." The reader will be able to make 
these comparisons from the reproduction. 
As an example of the lengths to which 

money-seekers will go, the case of E 

is a highly respectable specimen. In this 
instance the expert considered that Mrs. 

E took her husband's hand, holding the 

pen, and guided it whilst writing the name — 

Robert E ; her hand over his and with 

the pen writing the surname in her own style. 

to having seen the method employed. Fortu- 
nately it resulted in a compromise. 

Perhaps, however, the most curiously in- 
teresting will case with which Mr. Inglis has 
had to struggle is that known as — " Is the 
word Twenty or Seventy?" The case was 
tried in the High Court of Session, Edin- 
burgh, before Lord Kyllachy, in December, 
1 89 1. The action was raised by Thomas 
McNab, of Gollamd, 
Middleton Kerse House, 
against the trustees of 
his late brother, Alexan- 
der McNab, of Tech- 
muiry, and the dispute 
was whether a certain 
legacy left to the pursuer 
was one of ^20,000 or 
^70,000. An exami- 
nation of the contested 
word showed that the 
parties interested could 
hardly be expected to 
rest satisfied with any- 
thing short of a judicial 
interpretation of the intentions of the testator. 
The writer has before him folio after folio 
of test-words of every description, which Mr. 
Inglis spent many weeks over, in order to 
arrive at a definite opinion. It would be 
interesting to all future would-be will makers 
to reproduce them in their entirety, as a 
timely warning to write plainly when disposing 
of their money ; but a few will suffice. The 
disputed word was the third on the last line 
of page two of the will. The question is : 



One can readily see the struggle of the two 
hands in the two names. The expert's 
opinion was right, for a few days afterwards 
the solicitor came joyously to Mr. Inglis's 
office, and intimated that his statement as to 
how the signature was written *had been 
corroborated by a later witness, who deposed 

What was the latest idea or inception in the 
mind of the testator when he altered the 
will ? Mr. Inglis made a most remarkable 
report on this case. He examined the word 
in dispute under a very powerful microscope. 
To show^the- elaborate nature of his re- 

SK,r 8teEfelMWHf^N ki " d ' hKe m 



reproduced facsimile results of the examina- 
tion of the first letter of the word. 



There is no erasure in or 
about the word. On the left 
side of the down-stroke there 
are four lines, thus : — 

and the foot thus ) firm. 

On the right 
side of the down- 
stroke there are three lines, 

thus : — 

all of which are firm. 


The lowest line on the right 
side of the down-stroke is 
carried to the first up-stroke 
following, and joins it at the 
bottom, thus : — 

The first up-stroke follow- Z 1 

ing the supposed capital is inordinately tall 
and it touches the top 
line on right side of 
down - stroke, thus : — 
The second up-stroke 
following the supposed 
capital agrees with the 
the " e, n, y " following, about which 
no dispute. The third up- 
stroke after the supposed 
capital is also inordinately 
tall and finishes with a 
peculiar twist, thus : — 

The remaining letters are " enty." This 
makes the disputed word to be either 


height of 
there is 


The whole of Mr. Inglis's exhaustive 
analysis resulted as follows : That there are 
two faint head-lines which cannot be followed 
out ; that the word was written " twenty," 
with a small " t " instead of a capital ; that 
the small " t " has been altered to stand for 
a capital " S ;" and that " w " has been altered 
into " ev," which manipulation destroys the 
identity of the word as being " twenty," 
altering it to the word " Seventy," which, in 
Mr. Inglis's opinion, was the last idea and 
inception in the mind of the testator. 

This was singularly confirmed six months 
after by Professor Greenfield, of Edinburgh, 
and a facsimile of his enlargement of the 
disputed word is shown beneath the portion 
of the will reproduced here. 

To turn from wills. The following tends to 
show that " habit " is of as great use to the 
expert when analyzing a case as similarity 
of style. In penning a letter there is always 
some peculiar characteristic which the writer 
cannot easily rid himself or herself of. In 
this instance a libellous letter was sent to a 
gentleman against his fiancee. A certain lady 
was suspected and charged with the offence. In 




reply she wrote a 
most indignant de- 
nial. This, which 
was written heavily 
with a quill pen in 
a bold, split-dotting 
style, along with the 
libellous missive, 
written in a scratchy 
style, were the only 
documents sub- 
mitted to the expert. 
Mr. Inglis decided 
that they were 
penned by one and 
the same person — a 
fact to which the 
guilty party subse- 
quently confessed. 
Here comes " habit." 
The lady, although 
she disguised her 
writing very cleverly, 
was innocent of the 
fact that she always 

commenced her communications by econo- 
mically writing close up to the edge of the 
note-paper, instead of leaving the customary 
margin usually adopted ; furthermore, in 
each communication omitting the salutation 
of " My dear," etc. A small thing, but quite 
sufficient to bring the offence home. 

Mr. Inglis has had many schools through 
his hands, and nearly in every case young 
ladies' establishments. It seems that the 
green-eyed monster has a veritable strong- 
hold in the immediate vicinity of the desk. 
Here is one — a part of the letter in question 
being reproduced. 

Miss R , a young girl at a boarding- 
school, complained to the lady-principal that she 
had received abusive anonymous letters, and 
stated that she thought Miss S , a fellow- 
pupil, was the guilty person. The dictation 

lesson -book of Miss S , and four letters of 

Miss R , were handed over to the expert. 

After examining the documents he concluded 


that Miss R herself was the author. 

She was expelled. A fortnight after she 
admitted having written the disagreeable 
missives by using her left hand ! 

The documents submitted to handwriting 
experts are frequently of a very "weighty" 
character. At another scholastic establishment 
for young ladies, the mistress one day dis- 
covered a very objectionable word written on 
the panel of a door. The mistress had the 
panel cut out and sent to the late Mr. 
Netherclift. He adopted a clever ruse, in 
order to lay the finger of guilt on the culprit. 
The classes were assembled- -some sixty girls 
in all — and a dictation lesson was given, in 
which all the letters used in the objectionable 
expression were scattered in various words very 
freely. A comparison of the dictation-books 
with the word complained of was made, and 
the guilty girl pointed out. She was sent 
away, and her parents, naturally, not being 
satisfied with the expert's opinion, Mr. Inglis 



f f\ un gin a 1 from 




*% ~4£^~St 

•pe &0-+-0C -^p- 

, #*&Z* fat"* 


was consulted. He could only confirm, in every 
possible way, the idea expressed by the pre- 
vious expert. 

Mr. Inglis executed the facsimiles utilized 
by Lord Chief Justice Cockburn in the 
Tichborne trial. The late Lord Cockburn 
published an edition of his own of his 
memorable summing-up in this famous 
case. At the end of the volume are a 
number of pages of the many facsimiles 
used |at the trial, in order to show the identity 

simple habit — just a matter of continual sharp 
loops at the beginning of each line. 

As to the opinion which judges have of 
experts in handwriting, the compliment paid 
by Lord Cockburn to the experts engaged in 
the Tichborne trial may be quoted here. 
In summing up, he said : " The evidence of 
professional witnesses is to be viewed with 
some degree of distrust, for it is generally 
with some bias ; but within proper limits it 
is a very valuable assistance in inquiries of 



of Arthur Orton's handwriting with that of 
the assumed Roger, and the difference in 
style from those of the real Roger. Here is 
habit again, and the reader is invited to study 
the examples given here, and to form his own 
conclusions as to what the one evinced in his 
penmanship and the other lacked. A very 

this kind. The advantage is that habits of 
handwriting — as shown in minute points 
which escape common observation, but are 
quite observable when pointed out — are 
detected and disclosed by science, skill, and 
experience. And it is so in the comparison 
of handwriting by the assistance of experts." 

e^7^Sffi>ts< SIP 


o^^^l/ ^i*££ -*£a*SL </ 





Peculiar Furniture. 

By James Scott. 

X the capacity of designer of 
furniture novelties for the trade 
and for technical journals, I 
have frequently met with 
particulars and drawings of 
curious articles of what may 
be called " practical joke furniture," and 
have sometimes seen the actual goods* I 
have been interested in making a collection 
of the details of these curious chairs, tables, 
beds, etc*, and, under the impression that 
the description of some of them may prove 
acceptable reading, have made a selection 
from my portfolio. The explanations of the 
mechanical portions of the articles will be 
found sufficiently exhaustive to assist any 
reader, who may so aspire, to make any of 
the goods. 

The chair illustrated in Fig. i would appear 
harmless enough to the person intending to 


accept the comfort apparently offered by it, 
but upon taking a seat that person would 
experience a decidedly sharp smack upon the 
back of his head, Naturally, he would 
instinctively and quickly rise, only to dis- 
cover the chair in its normal condition, no 
sign of weakness of any part being observable. 
The drawing illustrates the chair in its tor- 
menting attitude — as it would appear suppos- 
ing a person were seated upon it. A side 
view of the chair, supposed to be cut exactly 
in half, is shown in Fig, 2. 

Vol ™ -41. 

The immediate effect of a person's weight 
upon the seat is to cause the back edge of it 
to subside, and press upon the lower and 
hidden end (a) of a banister, or upright 
middle piece, the 
direct res ult 
being that the 
extreme upper 
end of this 
banister is pro- 
jected violently 
forward, as i n 
Fig. 3 ; striking 
the person's head 
before he has had 
the opportunity 
of avoiding the 
blow. The seat 
is hinged in front 

to the framing of the chair, as also is the 
banister. A spring, somewhat resembling 
the pattern of those fitted behind shop doors, 
is attached to the under-side of the seat, and 
this spring forces the seat to regain its 
original elevation instantaneously upon the 
release of the pressure previously exerted 
above it. In like manner, the action of a 
small spring situated between the banister 
and the seat-frame results in the return of 
the banister to its normal position. One 
can imagine the surprise of a person unfor- 
tunate enough to receive a shock from the 



A rB&SON* 



innocent-looking banister. The top of this 
banister, under ordinary circumstances, 
comes into direct contact with the under 
edge of the chair top, 

A chair possessing less obnoxious capabili- 
ties is that drawn in Fig. 4, yet it is one 
equally likely to create surprise on the 
occupant's part. The weight of the sitter 
depresses the seat bodily for an inch or so, 
acting on levers adjoined to the bottom end 
of a portion of each arm, the immediate 
result being that the front halves of the arms 
arch over the sitter's legs, thereby imprison- 
ing him, and rendering movement of the 

legs a difficult 
matter. To add 
to the effective- 
ness of this 
article, contriv- 
ances are fitted 
in the back and 
front frame- 
work of the 
seat, which 
throw out a pair 
of catches as 
soon as the seat 
sinks, fully 
serving to pre- 
vent the return 
of the seat and 
arms to their 



normal position 
until the catches have been pushed into 
the woodwork again, A man could thus be 
held a prisoner for a lengthy time, Fig, 5 
shows the arms up ; Fig, 6, down, as in 
Fig, 4. 

A third and 
rather atrocious 
description of 
article is seen in 
Fig, 8. The front 
portion of the seat 
subsides beneath 
the sitter, trans- 
ferring him in- 
stantly to the 
carpet The dis- 
tance of the drop, 
and the velocity 
of its accomplish- 
ment, arc both 
calculated to pro- 
duce bruises or 
broken bones. 
Two catches— one 
at each side— may 
be used in order 

to maintain the seat in a rigid, horizontal 
position when so required, A "shop-door " 
spring is likewise fitted to the under-side of 
the seat, which immediately returns to its 
ordinary level when the person has slipped 
off it, 

A chair, the ultimate purpose of which is 
somewhat analogous to that of the article 
illustrated by Fig, 4, yet different in its 
action, is shown in Figs* 9 and 10. The 
first drawing provides a view of it in its 
normal state. Upon taking a seat nothing 
unusual is experienced ; but immediately the 
occupant leans against the back, that back 
gives way to the extent of a few inches at the 
top, thereby forcing the arms round the body 
of the sitter, after the manner to be seen by 

FJG + ^ 




a reference to Fig, 10, The 
motions producing these re- 
sults are explained as follows; 
Each arm is hinged, as in the 
plan Fig. n, to the inner 
side of a back upright The 
back is hinged to the seat, 
but is prevented from falling 
too far by means of a curved 
back rail joined to the 

When pressure is exerted 
On the back, the curved end 
of the arms — those parts 
behind the chair— are pushed, 
thus causing the arms to 
swing round as shown in 
plan Fig, 12, A person 
could, in this manner, be held a temporary 
prisoner for a period depending upon the 
discretion of the owner of the chair. 

Turning aside from peculiar chairs, I will 
introduce a very innocent-looking article in 
the shape of a piano-stool Fig. 13 gives its 
usual appearance. Receiving an invitation 
to amuse the company with a tune on the 
piano, the pianist would proceed to the 
instrument, where it would be explained to 
him that the top of the stool w T as incap- 
able of rising, but " would he just try the 
height, to ascertain whether it were suitable?" 
Dumping down on it, the pianist would 
momentarily be struck with the impression 
that an earthquake had taken place, for 
the seat would depress beneath his weight, 
until it reached the elevation depicted in 

an iiivmsoNisr, CHAIR, 

upper piece, 
seat back to 

FIG* 13, 

FIG, 14. 

Fig, 14. Most assuredly the effect of this 
subsidence would be to hud him to the 
floor, to be eventually 
his rising with the stool 
altered in form or size. 


confronted upon 
apparently un- 

it would be difficult, I 
fear, to find the man who 
would not strenuously resent 
such despicable treatment, 
especially if the practical 
joke were imposed upon 
him whilst in the midst of a 
gathering of festive people* 

The contrivance permitting 
this action on the part of the 
seat is of the simplest kind. 
Each turned leg consists of 
two pieces — a hollow lower 
portion, into which fits a 
cylindrical upper piston. A 
strong spiral spring is in- 
serted w r ithin each hollow, 
beneath the end of each 
and these springs force the 
its o. jinal height when the 
pressure of the body is taken away. There 
are grooves partially along the upper pistons, 
into which fit small pegs attached to the tops 
of the lower portions of the legs, and these 
prevent the seat from being forced entirely 
out of place. 

My descriptive remarks now reach what 
must be regarded as an hypocritical table, 
Everyone, no doubt, is acquainted with the 
assertions of mesmerists respecting the possi- 
bility of the strong influence of mind, acting 
through the medium of hands placed on a 
table, raising the table to a height of a few 
inches. I will not attempt to criticise this 
declaration, for the mind, I am aware, is 
capable of such development as to produce 
wonders in the way of its 
power over inanimate 
matter ; but here is the ex- 
planation of the way in 
which trickery may be, and 
often is, introduced into 
these experiments. 

Two or four persons may 

sit at the table illustrated 

in Fig. 15, one of the 

number being, of course, 

the owner of the article, 

who is acquainted with the 

details and object of its 

construction. Hands are 

placed, in pairs, upon the 

top of the table, and the 

persons are requested to 

concentrate their attention upon the matter 

of endeavouring to raise it by the aid of 

will-power alone, their gaze to be meanwhile 

fixed steadfastly at the centre of the table-top. 

After remairfng m this posture for a few 




moments, they will feel the table pressing 
upward, apparently acceding to their desires. 
It will seem rather unsteady, but will con- 
tinue to rise until a certain height has 


been attained, when it will slowly sink, and 
assume its normal position. Should one of 
the experimenters become inquisitive during 
the uprising of the table, and glance at the 
legs of the article, he will perceive that the 
extremities of them are actually off the floor, 
and will naturally be astonished at the pro- 
gress of events. 

Other tables may t perhaps, be tried ; but for 
some reason or another, so the host will 
explain, they will not rise. They may be too 
heavy, or the impulse of the operators may 
be weakened after experimenting with this 
table. The visitors will little dream that 
they have been effectually deceived by a 
most simple contrivance, which is now 
exposed to the reader. The vase of ever- 
greens is a fixture. Its upper portion is 
devoted to the purpose 
evidenced by the exist- 
ence of the plant ; but 
its lower half contains 
the means of deceit* 

Fig. 1 6 will assist the 
reader to understand the 
arrangement adopted in 
order to secure the results 
described, a is a divi- 
sion in the vase, support- 
ing the mould and plant. 
Ft is a movable division, 
travelling, when required, 
up and down a cylindrical 
space within the vase. Between the fixed 
and movable divisions is placed a series 
of strong spiral springs. From the bottom 


of the movable division proceeds a very thin 
metal rod (c), its lower extremity being flush 
or level w T ith the under-side of the bottom 
board (d) of the table, where it is covered 
by a rail (e) pivoted on this same side. 
Now, the rail just mentioned has a projection 
(f), which can be easily touched by the foot. 
Figs. 19 and 20 provide plans of the under- 
side of the bottom board g represents the 
pivoted rail, which covers the end of the 
metal rod. Upon applying the foot to the 
catch f, the rail will turn, exposing the end 
of the rod When this has been done, the 
springs force the movable division down- 
wards and push the rod against the floor, the 
consequence being that the table is impelled 
in an upward direction. Of course, it would 
topple over were it not for the person s J hands, 
which steady it The liability to unsteadiness 
is calculated to impress the visitors to a 
greater extent than a steadily rising table 
would be likely to. 

The rod is composed of two portions, 
pivoted as in Fig, zi r and when this part 
emerges beneath the bottom board of the 
table, manoeuvring on the part of the owner 
will result in the table moving bodily in a 
side direction, causing the rod to bend at the 
joint, when a small spring, which is per- 
manently inserted in that joint, completes the 
trick by forcing the rod into contact with the 
under-side of the board, where it is then 
entirely out of sight By this time the table 
will have resumed its normal position, The 
size of the bottom board prevents any of the 
operators seeing the rod, should they happen 
to peer curiously at the table legs. The rod 
would be apparent to anyone sitting at a 
distance from it, in the same way as it is 
apparent in the drawing ; but, of course, 
the owner would exercise his discretion as to 
the occasions when the 
experiment took place. 

By using a double- 
bottom board, the rail 
E, Figs. 16 and 17 (also 
shown as G in Figs. 19 
and zo), may be effec- 
tively hidden from too- 
curious visitors. 

The next table (Fig. 
22) differs to a great 
extent from the fore- 
going. It is a garden- 
table ; apparently a tree- 
stump surmounted by a 
marble-cloth covered board. One can 
imagine the consternation experienced by a 
visitor invited to sit in a summer arbour with 





his host, adjacent to one of these tables, 
when he found, after having had his attention 
diverted for a moment, that the solid-look- 
ing top had disappeared. He would feel in 
a ridiculous position, sitting facing his com- 

a msaithamm; TABLE, 

panion, with an ordinary bare tree-stump 
standing between them. He might eventually 
discover that the top had gone a journey down 
into the hollow interior of the stump j but not- 
withstanding the simplicity of the method by 
which such a result had been accomplished, 
he would, doubtless, be at a loss to account 
for the disappearance. 

The shape of the table is octagonal, and 
the appearance of the hanging edge gives 
one the impression that the table-top is a 
solid affair. This, however, is a misconcep- 
tion, for the top consists of nothing more 
than six steel ribs, resembling those of an 
ordinary umbrella, radiating from a small 
circular piece of wood, of a smaller diameter 
than the opening of the stump, entirely 
covered with marble cloth. Their arrange- 
ment prevents them from folding down- 

wards from the centre block. Half-way 
down the tree -stump, within its interior, 
is pivoted a narrow shelf, the unattached 
end of which protrudes outside the 
stump, through a slit* This shelf is 
movable in a horizontal direction, and 
upon it a weight is supported, To 
the wdght is secured a string, con- 
nected also to the centre of the table- 
top, Whilst the weight is standing 
upon the shelf the top is sufficiently 
rigid to conceal its formation. But 
immediately upon the protruding end of 
the shelf being moved sideways, the 
weight is dislodged, falling instantly to 
the bottom of the cavity, and of course 
carrying with it the table-top, which 
is bound to collapse, as shown in 

Fig- 23- 

Fig, 24 shows the appearance of this 

curious article after the top has so effectively 

disappeared. Fig. 25 illustrates the interior, 

The article drawn in Fig. 26 is one 

calculated to instil intense fright if its effect 

be practised upon a visitor at night time 

and in the dark. Supposing that a 

jocular old farmer has invited one of 

his town relatives to spend a few days 

with him ; and, supposing further that 

the town relative has wished the old 

farmer " Good-night ! " and is lying half 

awake in his bed, his state would be 

fearful at suddenly being fully aroused 

by a shrieking, howling, whistling noise 

at no great distance from him, Most 

assuredly he would not hesitate to accept 



FIG. 37. 

the belief that the place was haunted by 
evil spirits. 

The cause of the disturbance can be 
quickly revealed, An ordinary -looking 
coffee table is so constructed that its top 
revolves. A powerful spring is wound 
around the pivot which extends from the 
table-top into the pillar Hinged under- 
neath the top is a series of wires, at the 
end of each being fixed a whistle re- 
semhling the "bird-warblers" sold in 
such large numbers in our main thorough- 
fares. Under ordinary circumstances 
these wires are held flat against the under- 
side of the top by means of pieces of 
elastic (see Fig, 27), 
the whistles pointing 
towards the centre of 
the table. To a very 
small catch is con- 
nected a length of 
twine, which passes down 
the pillar, through one 
of the claw feet, and 
out through the door or 
window, via the under- 
side of the carpet. The table is, of 
course, made to withstand the strain 
brought to bear upon it when the twine 
is pulled, at which moment the catch 
is released, thereby permitting the top to 
revolve, the consequence being that the 
terrific rate of the revolutions impels the wires 
outwards as seen in Pig. ?6, when the wild 
whirling of the whistles forces the air through 
them, producing the horrible sounds desired. 
So soon as the revolving of the top desists, 
the pieces of elastic exert their power, and 
pull the wires back to their normal position, 
in which situation they are entirely out of 

The object of each and all of the pieces 
of furniture heretofore described assumes 
a mild and inoffensive nature when com- 
pared to the object of the bedstead 
illustrated in Fig, 28, Most people 
are acquainted with the tales relative 
to travellers, and the risks they ran, in 
the old coaching days of this country. In 
isolated inns, men of the road were done to 
death by brutal landlords for the sake of the 
money and property which they carried, I 
have many details in my possession of the 
forms of secret panels and flooring, by 
means of which ingress was made to a man's 
apartment when desired. It was useless for 
the traveller to lock the door of the 
room. But the use of this bed entirely 
obviated the necessity for direct personal 


contact with the wretched occupant who had 
sought rest and met conflict. Nothing what- 
ever of a suspicious character revealed itself 
to the eye of the wayfarer, yet when the 
scoundrel who meditated crime had satisfied 
himself that the man slept, he would quickly 
lower an interior portion of the canopy of 
the bedstead, firmly imprisoning him in an 
air-tight cavity until suffocation ensued. 
Struggling and shouting would be useless 
under such circumstances, as the weight of 
the box would be tremendous. 

Four ropes pass up through the floor of the 
room, and travel along shafts in the bed- 
posts, serving to support the movable portion 
of the canopy, which, even if something 
wrong were suspected, one would have great 
difficulty in detecting to be so treacherously 
constructed. Of course, more than one pair 




of hands would be needed in order to lower 
this canopy, unless mechanical aid were 
called into requisition. 

Another bedroom article, but t happily, one 
possessing far different capabilities than 
the foregoing formidable bedstead, is shown 
in Fig, 29. The bottoms of the drawers are 
devised in such a manner that upon certain 
occasions one of them will, hy means of 
powerful springs fitted beneath it, effect the 
sudden upheaval of the contents of the 
drawer upon its being opened, whilst the 
bottom of another will, at some other time, 
follow a reverse course, and permit the linen 
to fall through, 

As the details of this article are of a some- 
what compli- 
cated character* 
and would prove 
but tedious 
reading, I will 
omit them ; but 
the general con- 
struction of the 
drawers is made 
clear in Fig. 29. 
A door, which 
might prove 
very useful if 
fitted in some 
of the rooms to 
which enter- 
prising gentlc- 
inen of the 

FIG, ya. A STRIKING DOOR. bUTgling peT" 

suasion are 
sometimes tempted, is shown in Fig, 30, 
When shut, it resembles an ordinary door; 
but upon b^ing opened 
it immediately surprises 
the visitor by letting 
its upper half fal 
heavily upon his unfor- 
tunate head. 

The reason for the 
door acting in this for- 
cible manner is ex- 
plained by the fact that 
a small projection, or 
tongue, fits into a hollow 
in the framing sur- 
rounding the doorway 
when the door is shut, 
and is drawn from the 
space upon the door 
being opened, the direc- 
tion in which the door 
is travelling materially 
aiding the downfall. 




I have 
deemed it fit- 
ting to leave 
the two most 
gruesome ar- 
ticles of fur- 
niture I have 
until the con- 
clusion of my 
paper. Fig, 
31 shows the 
purpose to 
which, I am 
assured, many 
worthy and 
not very sen- 
sitive people 
have devoted 
the awe-inspir- 
ing receptacle 

which is so familiar an object to the eyes 
of man. Really, I believe there are but few 
persons who would not shudder at the 
thought of eating or drinking food which had 
been contained in so depressing an article. 

My last illustration w r ill perhaps convey to 
the reader the most suggestive impressions. 
It is shown in Fig. 32, Here we have 
an article which brings both extremes of 
existence together — the symbol of death is 
used to rest the babe w T ho has just begun 
life — birth and death are mentally associated 
upon contemplating this peculiar outcome of 
man's mind. Whether intended to impress 
the growing child with the nearness of death, 
and to demand a due reverence for the 
or whether merely the 
result of a morbid 
desire to connect the 
mind continually with 
the undertaker, I can- 
not venture to say ; al- 
though it must be ad- 
mitted that the cross 
fixed at the head of 
this curious cradle sub- 
stantiates the suppo- 
sition that a religious 
idea prompted its con- 
struction. The bells, 
which tinkle upon oc- 
casions when the cradle 
is being rocked, seem to 
point to the wish on the 
parents' part to comfort 
the little darling of hu- 
manity destined to oc- 
, , L , cupy this coffin-cradle. 


future state of man, 

The Eagles Crag, 

By M. R Shiel. 

HE village of Arli is, I should 
think, quite the smallest com- 
munity of human beings ex- 
tant with a baker's shop and 
a cabaret in it The primitive 
folk who inhabit it would 
strike you as more than merely old-fashioned 
— they are antique, prehistoric, suggesting 
11 the old eternities," 

They are amphibious too, like seals. 
Living high up on a spur of the Apennines 
you would call them mountaineers, but they 
are fishermen as well — water-rats, if you like 
— and from their high eminence they can 
almost see the little sweep of dark grey sand 
on which they draw up their boats o* nights. 
All round the valley, which reaches down to 
the sea, hang tiny villages at dizzy heights on 
the bare crags. They look like nothing so 
much as nests. Till you go near them, the 
imagination refuses to see why they do not 
topple over all of a heap, A telescope 
would reveal to you the fact that everywhere 
there is a small square church tower ; it is as 
if the eagles had set to work and built baby 
temples to the 

In Arli, won- 
derful to tell, 
there lived a great 
man, a rich man, 
and a wise. What 
if he could 
not read? He 
had seen the 
world, and all 
its wonders. 
The house he 
lived in had not 
peat or thatch on 
the roof like the 
houses of the rest 
of men, but real 
shingles that 
had come from 
Genoa, hard by. 
This was old 
Francesco Testi, 
bent down now 
with age, his long 

locks all white like the driven snow; but with 
eyes still wild and bright as ever. What fate 
was ever like this fate ? He, like others, had 
started life as a goat-herd and deep-sea fisher, 


and see what he had grown to now; after four- 
score years of living — rich and honoured, a 
king in Arli ! Nothing is incomprehensible but 
the infinitely simple, and that was why these 
poor people never could understand how this 
miracle had been brought about for Fran- 
cesco ; and yet the whole secret lay in the 
fact that he had had the pluck and the 
invention to go off to Genoa to be a sailor, 
and had dared to cross the great sea in a 
great ship. 

It was darkly whispered that Signor Fran- 
cesco had a thousand napoleoni, which 
people were keeping for him in a bank in 
some far-off city. And this all was to fall to 
Simonetta t his grand-daughter, when he died 
— to her, and the husband she should choose. 
Simonetta, mark you, was only seventeen, 
and many a time, as she wandered lonely in 
the chestnut woods, she felt hardly grateful 
for her thousand napoleoni. She was a 
beam of sunlight, and felt herself to some 
extent forbidden to shine, and glance, and 
dart. By a beam of sunlight, of course, 1 
mean a flirt. She was the queen of the 

village, and was 
dying to be its 
plaything. The 
lads worshipped 
her, but at a dis- 
tance that was 
dreadful to her. 

Now, it hap- 
pened that one 
fine day old Fran- 
cesco took him- 
self up and went 
away some- 
whither. It must 
have been to that 
same far-off city 
where all his 
wealth lay stored, 
for when he re- 
turned he had all 
his worldly goods 
about him in the 
shape of a pile of 
notes. Day by 
day the hunger to 
see them, to fondle them, had grown on him, 
till the longing became a greed, a lust. So he 
had gone, and on the very night of his return 
he showed them m his wicked glee to 




Simonetta before locking them up in a frail 
wooden cabinet ; and Simonetta, in a flutter, 
went and told Marina, who fluttered for 
company, and so the flutter spread and 
spread, till the very crows in the trees caught 
the contagion, and croaked the great news in 

But on the morning of the third day after 
Francesco's return, the notes were gone — 
gone ! — and every one of those brown faces 
turned to white, and a great hush fell on all 
that mountain-side. 

From far and near they came, assembling 
in front of the shingled house, speaking little 
and in whispers. They waited long as the 
slow hours rolled round, hoping for a sight 
of the old man's scared face. All this time 
they relieved one another like sentinels. At 
last, at dusk, Simonetta came to the door, a 
woful sight, her eyes all red with weeping. 

" My grandfather thanks you, good people, 
for your kind feeling," she said, and then 
broke down, sobbing straightaway. " He — 
would come — and thank you — himself, 
but " 

" Who stole the money, Simonetta ; tell 
us that ? What does Francesco think ? " 
cried a voice. 

"He — doesn't know — but it must be one 
of you." 

A murmur, half of anger, rose from the 
crowd. They were honest folk, you see, and 
a theft like this had never been known among 

" What about that Pippo ? " shrieked a 
woman's voice. 

Simonetta started and looked up. This 
was an idea that seemed to appeal to her 
quick woman r s wit But she shook her head 
after a moment, and said : — 

"No, it is impossible. Grandfather saw 
Pippo at Milan, where he got the notes. 
Pippo is far from here." 

There was a sharp exclamation of surprise 
at this point from a man in the crowd. It 
came from Nicolo, the boatman, the fruit- 
carrier to the Eagle's Crag. Every eye 
turned to him. Here, surely, would be 
light and insight, if anywhere. But Nicolo, 
who was not prone to speech, and shyer than a 
chamois kid, hung his head, and said nothing. 

" It boots nothing to stand there making 
guesses," continued Simonetta. "It would 
be better if you all went home and tried to 
forget us. But, oh ! I beg of you, whoever 
has stolen the money, for the Madonna's 
sake, to return it ! Nothing will be said. 
You would not kill an old man ? — and this 
has nearly killed him already. And besides, 

Vol. viii.~42. 

And besi 

he bids me say to you all, that whoever — 
mark that — whoever brings back those pieces 

of paper shall — shall — have me for his 

You know what I would say, perhaps. I am 
a maiden, and would speak maidenly. And 
I would consent, too — indeed, indeed, I 
would — if only to save him from dying of his 
despair ! " 

She ceased her simple speech and closed 
the door, whereupon the crowd formed itself 
into a series of select committees to discuss 
the situation. For the present, only one of 
their number withdrew from the conclave of 
loosened tongues — it was Nicolo, the silent. 

He descended the mountain-side for a 
while, then turned into a lonely piece of level 
land shut in by crags. The short grass was 
covered in places by patches of crisp snow, 
which had fallen only the evening before. 
All the time he kept his eye fixed on the 
ground, as if searching for something. That 
something he had seen there the previous 
night, and he now wanted to see it again. 
Fresh snow had fallen since, but it must have 
been very little, for he soon gave a grunt of 
satisfaction, and bent low down to examine his 
find : it was an enormous footprint in the snow. 

Nicolo knew that there were only two feet 
in all Italy that could make such a track ap 
that — the feet of Pippo, the hunchback. 
And yet Pippo was supposed to be far away 
in Milan ! 

Pippo, I must tell you, was a stranger in 
those parts. No true mountain-climber he, 
but a Roman from the flat lands of the 
Campagna. Some three years before he had 
suddenly appeared in the midst of these 
solitudes, and had settled down amongst 
them. No one knew who or what he was, save 
this : that he was a learned man, a chemist, 
a reader of books. It was clear, too, that he 
must be rich ; and people whispered that he 
must be one of the far niente ones of the big 
outside world, who, for some crime, had come 
to this lonely, quiet place to hide securely 
from justice ; for he did not labour like 
other men, but spent his time in awful 
bouts of drunken madness, or — during lucid 
intervals — in wandering over the mountains, 
and, in his monstrous, misshapen head, 
dreaming vain dreams of Simonetta. 

At first she had only laughed at him, 
and witched him only the more with 
her laughter, till one day, meeting her 
alone in a wood, he seized on her like a 
falcon on a dove, and in wild words swore 
she should be his. Then did Simonetta all 
at once become a tragic queen. Her little 
nails were &huip, and she used them to tear 




steaks from Pippo's cheeks ; her tongue was 
shrill and shrewish, and she used it in 
shrieking out invocations on all the saints* 
Between whiles 
she spat in his 
face— and so it 
lasted till Nicolo, 
stern of brow, 
suddenly appear- 
ed to rescue her. 
And all this was 
well known in 
the villages 

But what no 








one knew save himself was a little romance 
— the only one he had ever had — which 
Nicolo had been for some time hiding and 
hugging in his own bosom* He was thirty 
years, if he was a day, and a swarthy, black- 
bearded ma n— lean, athletic ; but there was 
tingling in his heart in these very days of 
the theft, all the visionary, rapturous, clandes- 
tine joy of a schoolboy's first love. 

It had come about in this way. One day, 
with the burning sun right overhead, Nicolo 
had sat him under a pine-tree far up the 
mountains ; in the lassitude of the hour he 
had taken out a knife and carved his name, 
11 Nicolo," on the trunk. A week later, 
when he came to that tree again^ he stood 
face to face with a miracle. Someone had 
scraped out three words in the bark right 
beneath his name, and the words were : 


Who was it had done this thing ? Nicolo, 
without daring to whisper it to himself, 
believed in his heart of hearts, with that 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 

belief, perhaps, which is the offspring of one's 
wishes, that it was Simonetta. And he was a 
shrewd fellow to hit a nail on its head, too ! 
After finding the foot- 
prints in the snow, he 
continued his way listlessly 
down the mountain. He 
was no longer in doubt as 
to who had stolen Fran- 
cesco's notes — the only 
question was, where tvere 
they now ? The world is 
full of hiding-places, and 
Pippo, he knew, was con- 
siderably more cunning 
than the devil He 
sat on a ledge of 
rock from which the 
sea was visible, let- 
ting his eye rest on a 
tiny speck far out on 
the water. 

It was already dusk, 
but he had the vision 
of a sparrow 1 - ha w T k t 
and presently this 
speck began to 
interest him. When 
it came nearer he 
could see that it was 
a small boat, and that 
it contained only one 
occupant ; and that 
one, he soon decided, 
was no fisherman. He 
ran quickly down the 
path and concealed himself behind a clump 
of myrtles that grew near the shore* He 
could have laughed aloud for joy when he 
recognised the huge, doubled-up form of the 
hunchback as he jumped from the boat, and 
applied his great strength to draw it up. 
Surely Nicolo was in luck's way — he had 
discovered, and without an effort, the great 
secret. The notes were at the Eagle's Crag ! 
This rock stands some miles from the 
mainland. The old fishermen of Liguria 
and Etruria in the palmy days of the Roman 
Republic called it Kupts Aquilina y because 
of the curious configuration of the summit, 
which resembles an eagle's head and beak, 
And the old name still clings to it 

It rises in awful solitude sheer out of the 
sea to a height of near two thousand feet 
It is shaped somewhat like one half of a 
cone slit down the middle — quite flat on 
one side, the other forming a convex surface. 
On the convex side, the south, not only 
is life possible, but n few poor men and 




women actually exist there* This south side 
has a regular steep incline upward to the 
very summit, and a bold and skilful climber 
may even reach the top \ but once there, 
the brain grows dizzy to look down, on the 
n&rtk side, on a smooth wall of rock, falling 
away from the feet, not perpendicularly, but 
with a marked inward slant Those who have 
so climbed and looked down, by stretching far 
out over the flat eagle's beak, will tell you 
that it is a sight full of terror, making the heart 
sick. In all this wall of rock there is one 
break, and only one — a horizontal ledge, three 
feet broad, which runs right across it at a 
height of rather more than three-quarters of 
the rock's height from the bottom. Quite near 
the end of the beak on that side a few shrubs 

Before the sun rose on the morning follow- 
ing his lucky discovery, Nicolo was far out 
to sea. He had laboured all night furnish- 
ing his boat with a supply of " tasso " (dried 
strips of deer-meat), with water, fruit, a great 
hunk of goat's -milk cheese, fishing-tackle, 
and a pot-bellied bottle of gentian brandy. 
He had an idea that Pippo was too cunning to 
hide his treasure on the rock itself* What was 

simpler than to cram the notes 
in, say, a hollow ball of lead, 
and sink them away out in the 
deep ? The sea is an excellent 
confidant, but it has this disad- 
vantage, that you must mark 
the spot where your hidden 
object lies by some visible float- 
ing substance* It was for this 
substance that Nicolo went in 
search. In doing so, all his 
movements were regulated by 
the most scrupulous method. 
He never passed over the same 
spot twice. At night, the sea 
being at that season as smooth 
as a lake's surface, he hung two 
lanterns over his boat's side, 
making himself the centre of a 
little circle of light; In this 
way he spent two weeks, search- 
ing for miles round the Eagle's 
Crag. Then he decided defi- 
nitely that he was on the wrong 

The next week or two he 
spent on the rock itself, examin- 
ing every square inch of its 
only accessible side — the south. 
One of the men who lived there 
remembered to have seen Pippo 
coming down the side of the 
hill on a certain night. On calculating, he 
discovered that that was the very night after 
the notes were stolen — the night he had seen 
Pippo come to land in the boat. That 
evidence was conclusive, for with what other 
object could the hunchback have ascended 
the rock (which hardly anyone ever visited) 
but to hide his treasure ? The notes were 
there, then, hidden somewhere near the 
summit. There was hardly any soft soil in 
which they could be buried, and that made his 
task easier, for he must look for them on the 
surface. With the most scientific precision, 
with the patience of Sisyphus, he scrutinized 
— to the wonder of the few natives, who 
could not imagine what Nicolo was searching 
for — every spot from base to vertex ; but the 
weeks rolled round, and he found nothing. 

At the end of this great search Nicolo 
was sitting one evening near the extremity 
of the eagle's beak just as the rim of the 
sun was dipping, away in the red west, into 
the sea. Vaguely he began to ply himself 
with the question — what next ? — what next ? 
Suddenly a pebble fell away from his feet, and 
following it, his eyes rested mechanically on 
the ^fp^t^^f^^^eding north side. 

3* 2 


He started as if slapped on the back by a 
hand. What if the notes were there ? 

But he soon dismissed the idea as im- 
probable. If 
they were on 
that ledge, 
he argued, 
they must 
have been 
flung there, 
and wou Id 
be past re- 
covery by anyone, 
even by Pippo him- 
self* Being a plain 
man, there seemed 
to him to be a lack 
of motive in so use- 
less a waste of good 

Still, ever as this 
question of '* What 
next ? M recurred to 
him, so did the idea 
of the ledge* He 
was unwilling, des- 
perately unwilling, 
after all his earnest 
quest, to entertain 
it, but it would not 
be shut out, As 
the days passed, the 
conviction grew on 
him that Pippo had 
wantonly thrown 
away the notes; and he began, too, to dis- 
cover something like a motive for such an 
act. Despairing of Simonetta rich, Pippo 
had resolved to make her poor, and that — 
and not the love of gain — must have been his 
reason for stealing the notes ; and so he had 
practically destroyed them. But, for some 
reason or other which Nicolo could not 
imagine, he had not thrown them into the 
sea, or torn them up, or burned them — for 
if so, why had he climbed flic rock ? And he 
had not hidden them on the south side ; of 
that Nicolo's exhaustive search made him 
sure. There was only one alternative left : 
he had flung them on to the ledge— flung 
them in his fiendish malignity, in his fan- 
tastic cunning, where it would be impossible 
for any human being to regain them, unless — 
unless — the rock were scaled ! 

To descend was, of course, impossible; 
for anyone attempting this, even with the 
aid of a rope, would swing out into air 
from the far-projecting l>eak, But to scale 
it ? One must be both a genius and a 


giant, and he must be agile and patient, 
as he was daring and muscular Imagine 
an animal made up of the hippo, the goat, 

the eagle, and the 
ant, and possess- 
ing withal the in- 
telligence and the 
inventiveness of a 

The ledge was 
partly visible from 
the summit, but 
parts of it were 
hidden from view 
by patches of foli- 
age. Nicolo passed 
hours in examining 
the parts he could 
see, leaning his 
body far over the 
edge ; but though 
he could perceive 
nothing except a 
few pebbles, he 
abated no whit of 
the resolve he had 
formed to attempt 
the great feat. He 
passed several days 
in brooding over 
elaborate plans, 
carefully separating 
in his thoughts 
what was possible 
from what was not. 
Then late at night, when he knew all prying 
eyes were closed, he returned to the main- 
land, pulled up his boat, and started off 
on foot over the mountain passes to the 
nearest large town. He came back as 
secretly as he went, staggering under a heavy 
load. This consisted of his tools and a Large 
stock of provisions. 

When he reached the Eagle's Crag, he 
anchored his boat close under the steep 
north wall, mooring it in addition to a great 
spike which he drove into a crevice. There 
was no beach, and the water was deep, He 
rigged up a tarpaulin into a coffin-shaped 
tent in his boat : this was to be his sleeping- 
place. After that night, for four long months 
he never saw a human face or sign of human 
life, except a fishing-boat or two from the 
other side of the island. 

He began by driving spikes into the rock, 
alternating these by holes which he chipped 
out for his feet. To the spikes he attached 
ropes. He was provided with means to 
sharpeq|^^|>^^pt^)H|y5gffl down, but 



the granitic mass he worked on was almost as 
hard as the metal he worked with. The 
splinters and the sparks flew into his face 
and blinded and cut him; sometimes as 
soon a* he had driven in a spike, after half a 
day's labour, he found it loose in the hole it 
had made ; then it was necessary to begin all 
over again, for it was from these that his life 
hung. Like Dante, his labour made him 
lean many days. 

He depended in a great measure for his 
food on the fish he could catch, and this very 
often did not come up to his expectations. 
Once he hungered for three days together, 
and all this time it was necessary to quench 
his thirst with minute draughts of water, for 
his stock of this, too, showed signs of failure. 
To return for these things among men would 
be to delay his work and betray himself, 
and he would have died first So long as he 
remained where he was he felt fairly secure 
from observation, for the three or four 
fishermen on the other side never came 
round to the dreadful north side, 
and believing it the haunt of the 
terrible storm-spirit, sighed at the 
very mention of it To the great 
ships, of course, passing in the 
distance he w f as invisible ; as, also, 
to the folk on the mainland, who, 
generally speaking, had little or no 
intercourse with those on the rock. 
Nicolo therefore, so long as he kept 
close, was as good as buried from 
the sight of man. Only God's eye 
perceived him. 

After a time he found that he 
had miscalculated the length of 
rope he would require, and his 
supply of this began (o fall short : 
he cut his tarred canvas tent into 
strips, and twisted them firmly 
together ; thenceforward he slept 
with the starlight in his eyes, wet, 
like the old Babylonish king, with 
the dew of Heaven, But he pros- 
pered, if slowly , and every day 
found him at least a foot or two 

It was when he had nearly 
reached the middle point of his 
upward pilgrimage that, as he was 
striking one final blow before 
descending for the night, his great 
hammer slipped from his wearied 
fingers and fell into the sea. To 
work without it was impossible, and he knew 
that it had fallen into some eight fathoms of 
water. All that night and the next day he 

was dredging the bottom with his weighted 
net. The net seemed to gather to itself all 
the debris of ocean with which to taunt and 
jeer at him — all but his hammer. At last, 
with an angry exclamation, he stripped him- 
self, and began to dive, Paler and paler 
showed the resolute face of the man under 
the grey moonlight every time he emerged 
to the surface. When at last he appeared, 
grasping the lost prize, two thin crimson 
streams were trickling from both his ears. 

There was something sinful in his per- 
sistency — it was like hurling a challenge at 
the Invincible* In the cold days of winter 
the frost fixed and riveted his numbed limbs, 
like the limbs of some naked, crucified Pro- 
metheus, to the cruel rock. There came a 
morning when he awoke, shivering from his 
nightmare sleep, to see his ropes, the gunwale 
of his boat, and the face of the rock covered 
over with icicles. To climb at all now was 
deadly dangerous, but he made more than 
one attempt, only to slip back bruised and 


impotent to the bottom. During the week 
the hard frost lasted, Nicolo became that 

nif-ir^*^m^r- a wi,d beast 



chained. But when it was over he began 
sullenly again, not even pausing to feel 

His scanty garments were always wet, and 
soon hung in rags from him. The elements, 
wandering through the world in search of a 
plaything, saw him, and made him their 
target. The hail, the sun, the sirocco, the 
snow took turns in shying at him, in pinching 
and torturing him. Gradually his eye lost 
lustre, his ribs stood out, and a feverish palsy 
seized on him. He became the ruin of a 
man. And with all this, the spirit, too, that 
had borne him up began to droop. Genius, 
you see, has its limits. The very worst 
element of his malady was the terrible tempta- 
tion that seized him in the last days of his 
toil, voluntarily — defiantly — to hurl his failing 
limbs into the deeps beneath him. 

At last, one day when only a week's labour 
remained to be done, Nicolo, absorbed in 
his work, suddenly felt a shiver run through 
him. He glanced up ; the sky was inky 
in its blackness ; underneath, the sea was 
white with foam, and the breakers were 
whishing and thundering against the base of 
the rock. He looked for his boat, and 
he saw it — but miles away, a black dot 
on the seething waters. To swim after it in 
such a sea, in such a current, was a task too 
great for any man, and he was already very 
weak. He was a real Prometheus now — 
chained irrevocably to the rock he had set 
out to conquer. 

He worked night and day, foodless, 
parched, sleepless, bowing his head before 
the relentless storm that tugged and tore 
at him, swinging him viciously from side 
to side, or battering him against the rock. 
Had he been a good man, a humble 
man, he w r ould inevitably have failed ; 
but a demon was in him — and on the 
morning of the third day he reached out his 
bony arm, drew himself on to the ledge, and 
with a deep gasp, fell prone on the object of 
all his effort, to die. 

He lay there without sign of life all that 
day and another, the storm raging over 
him ; but when it cleared, Nicolo stirred in 
his long sleep, and awoke to new hope and 
motion. After all, pain is only pain, and when 
it is past, seems bearable enough ; and was 
it not for Simonetta — she who, he hoped, had 
written the sweet hieroglyph, " I love you " — 
that he had suffered so ? And now at last — 
at last — he had triumphed, and had only to 
stretch out his hand to take the notes. He 
never for a moment doubted the correctness 
of his theory that they had been thrown 

there attached to some weight, and if so, it 
was clear they could not have rolled off, for 
the inside edge of the ledge was at a lower 
level than the outside. 

He rose to his feet and walked backward 
and forward several times over the narrow 
platform. Merciful God ! But there were 
no notes there! With his head fallen forward 
on his breast he sank down again on the 
rock, moaning piteously, for the first time 
giving way to utter despair. 

Presently it struck him that he was dying 
of thirst, and he decided to descend, intend- 
ing to swim round to the other side if his 
strength sufficed — he hoped that it would 
not. As he was about to step over the 
edge, a piece of metal at the very end of the 
ledge caught his eye. He wondered vaguely 
what it was doing there, and picked it up. 
It was a large, heavy nail. 

To his surprise, two bits of thin white 
thread were tied around it. The first of these 
led up from the piece of metal along the side 
of the rock above him : he could not follow 
it far with his eye, but he concluded that it 
must be fastened to one of the shrubs at 
the summit. He tugged at it, and it snapped 
mid-way. Then he looked at the other 
thread. He was endlessly mystified to see it 
lead straight up, not along the side of the 
rock this time, but up into the air, away from 
the slanting edge of the rock, where this nar- 
rowed in to form the peaked summit — straight 
up and up — till he lost sight of it in the 
azure, as if, forsooth, this, and no other, 
were the slight connecting link that binds 
Heaven to earth. He pulled at it, and it 
yielded easily to his touch; he commenced to 
draw it in, as he used to draw in his fishing- 
line when a " bite " was on, hand over hand. 
The length seemed endless, but gradually a 
diminutive round object came into sight above 
his head. At this object the thread ended. 

When the whole length had been thus 
taken in, Nicolo held in his hand a small 
balloon, a couple of feet in length, made of a 
double fold of gold-beater's skin, and filled 
with hydrogen gas. He tore it open ; the notes 
were within it. With these firmly grasped in 
his right hand, with both his arms stretched 
out to Heaven, he dropped sobbing on his 
knees, uttering agonized thanks to God. 

And at that moment his uplifted eyes met 
a face peering at him over the summit of the 
rock ; far off as it was, he recognised it as 
the face of Pippo. He guessed at once that 
Pippo had missed him from the mainland, 
and, his suspicions being aroused, had 
come to see how the notes were faring. 




In the next moment a pistol shot entered 
Nicole's back, and, turning over and over 
in one horrid, stupendous somersault, he fell 
into the abyss below, 

Before Nicolo struck the sea he was 
suffocated, but he was not dead. By the 
strange providence of Heaven, the eye of a 
bewildered fisherman, being caught from 
afar by the flash of a white form in human 
likeness tumbling 
down the face of the 
Eagle's Crag, the man 
rowed up to him and 
saved him, The wet 
notes were still in his 
hand. He was taken 
to the other side and 
coaxed back to life 
by the old fisherwives, 
who possess a skill all 
their own, both in 
suTgery and medi- 
cine. One fine day, 
after some weeks* he 
stole out of his hut 
when his old nurse's 
back was turned : it 
was his first new 
attempt at walking. 
On missing him she 
hurried after him in 
alarm, and discovered 
him at the water's 
edge eagerly looking 
towards the coast. 
Nicolo was humming 
the air of a gay High- 
land madrigal. 

All the birds were 
singing and shouting 
on the bright morn- 
ing that he returned 
to the mainland, and 
began to climb the 
mountains; as for 
him, his heart was a 
whole nest of lark^ 

At a turn of the 
path he met a woman coming down with 
a basket of oranges on her head ; she 
glanced curiously at him, and said, as she 
passed him : — 

" Walk fast, Nicolo — or you will be late 
to see the wedding/' 

A few yards farther up a boy, tending a 
herd of goats, called merrily out to him : — 

(( Walk fast, Nicolo— or you will miss the 
wedding. Signor Pippo, you know, is to be 
married this morning. Poor Simonetta ! It 


is old Francesco's doing, all of it It was 
Pippo found his notes, you see, and the old 
man had sworn that whoever found them 

should ,J 

Nicolo answered nothing. He did not 
even mend his pace ; but he looked upwards 
into the pale sky, as if appealing thert for 

The little church at Arli was crowded 
that morning* The priest at the 
altar looked glum, as though con- 
scious that he was helping forward 
the action of a tragedy. He had 
already begun, when a strange figure 
in ragged clothes, with long hair 
and wild eyes, walked unsteadily 
up the aisle. So long 
had he disappeared 
that many believed 
him dead, and his 
coming back was like 
the uprising of a 
ghost in their midst. 
Every eye in the 
building turned on 
him in amazement 
With bent head he 
moved slowly up to 
the altar and stood 
by the side of the 
sad-faced bride, 

** Do you take this 
woman for your 
wife ? M asked the 
priest, ignoring the 
new presence, 

"I do," replied 
Pippo, defiantly. 

11 1 do," repeated 
Nicolo, humbly* 

This was an embar- 
rassment of riches- 
Clearly, something 
must be done, and 
the padrt at once 
referred the question 
of conjugal rights to 
Simonetta J s better 
judgment. Before she could answer, Nicolo, 
with masterly diplomacy, had whipped 
out the notes from his pocket, and 
held them up before the crowd ; a 
word or two sufficed to show that the 
notes Pippo pretended to have found 
must have been his own, and not the notes 
at all. With this explanation, popular senti- 
ment turned wildly in Nicolo's favour, Dark, 
honest faces all round the central figures 
began J |fy t ,- Bft^TTf ^nMftATi ndictive rage 



at the deed that had been done in their midst, 
and a vague threatening nimble began to make 
itself heard. In one hand Francesco grasped 
a sailor's bowie-knife, while with the other he 
pressed that of Nicolo. The dainty little 
bride, pale and trembling, glanced thankfully 
up at her deliverer. Meantime, the ominous 
murmur had swelled into a howl of indig- 
nation j the hot blood of the peasants was 
lashing itself into a fury, and several of 
the wildest of the lads had already risen 
from their seats and huddled nearer to 
the altar, Suddenly a loud voice cried 
out, l£ Seize the thief!" followed by a rush 
that would certainly have borne down Pippo, 
had he not quickly retreated backward, at 
the same time drawing out a revolver, and 


pointing it at his aggressors. His face was 
livid, and had in it a something that warned 
the boldest to beware, At the sight of the 
cold barrel there was a slight hesitation 
among the peasants, and Pippo > taking 
quick advantage of it, turned on his 

heels and made a dash for an open 
door. As he did so, one of the men 
ran rapidly up to him, and by a deft move- 
ment snatched the weapon from his hand, 
but before it could be used against him, 
Pippo had disappeared through the door, 
which he slammed behind him. 

The keeper of the little osteria of Arli 
told afterwards how, all ghastly and pant- 
ing, he had then rushed into her shop, 
shrieking " Brandy, brandy!" She had handed 
him a bottle, which he half drained before 
her eyes. (l They have my pistol," he 
exclaimed, " but let them beware of sudden 
death when Pippo returns with arms. Tell 
them I go where they may be had in 
plenty ! " 

Then with the bottle under his arm he 
had fled from the shop, taking the road 
that led to Genoa. He was never seen 
alive again. All that night a black storm 
swept the hills, but in many a village 
rutmd, resolute men, defying thunder and 
wind, and armed with deadly weapons, 
waited for his appearing, Pippo, how- 
did not come* A week later his 
)roken body was found at the foot of a 
precipice far up the mountains, with the 
neck of his bottle still grasped in his 
hand. It was never certain whether 
he died a suicide's or a 
drunkard's death, or t as legal 
people say, " by the act of 

Old Francesco, with a cer- 
tain rough sense of the fit- 
ness of things, was for having 
Nicolo married to Simonetta 
at the Eagle's Crag. He had two 
thousand napoleoni now instead of one 
- his own and rich Pippo's — and 
thought perhaps he could afford to 
indulge in whims. But Simonetta, with a 
pretty shudder, said she would see the 
evil face of Pippo grinning spitefully 
down at them from the top. So the 
event took place in the little church 
of Arli. For many a long year after, 
it was noticed that Nicolo never w F ent 
near that stupendous Strength from which, 
by much wrestling, he had drawn Sweetness ; 
and even when by chance he cast a glance 
at the great rock, he was observed to sigh 
an u Ave," and devoutly and humbly to 
cross himself 

by Google 

Original from 

The Likenesses of Shakespeare, 

By Alexander Cargill, 

PART from the glorious body 
of writings that bear his name, 
how very little does the world 
possess to-day that belonged to 
Shakespeare, How little is 
known with certainty regard* 
ing his personal history and appearance that 
can enable us adequately to judge as to what 
manner of man he was in the flesh —as he 
lived, moved, and had his being in this 
wurk-a-day world some three centuries ago ! 
Many lives of Shakespeare have, it is true, 
been written with more or less elaboration 
and ingenuity, yet the really credible facts of 
his career may amply enough be summarized 
in a few paragraphs. 

What, then, as to his image or likeness ? 
Even of that treasure of the Homer of 
England — 

The maker of our stately English speech — 

the world has almost been denied a copy in 

which implicit trust may be placed. Would it 

not, perhaps, have been more in keeping with 

Shakespeare's transcendent genius, as well as 

with the mystery 

that envelops so 

much of his life, 

had there never 

been a single copy 

left behind him of 

what, at fastj only 

purports to be his 


Be that as it may, 
there are not a few 
copies extant that 
at least exhibit some- 
thing of his likeness 
in the flesh, and in 
spite of certain 
flaws and imperfec- 
tions attached to 
most of these 
copies, they must 
form a subject of 
unique interest to 
all the great poet's 
admirers — a count- 
less host in almost 
every country in the 
civilized world. By far the most important 
example of these is, of course, 

The Bust of Shakespeare 
in the chancel of the Church of Holy Trinity 

Vol vuL~-4& 


in -his native town of Stratford-on-Avon. 
With this likeness generations of pilgrims 
to that classic shrine have been familiar, 
ever delighted to gaze upon the marble 
image with profound admiration. The fea- 
tures of the poet as therein expressed are 
probably better known than those of any 
other great Englishman who lived before or 
after Shakespeare's time- for do they not 
represent in some fair measure the lineaments 
of one whose works are the heritage not of a 
sect, or party, or nation, but of mankind ? 

It is believed that when Shakespeare died, 
on the 25th April, 1616, exactly fifty-two years 
of age, a cast of his features was taken — by 
whom is not known, though the name of the 
sculptor of the bust, Gerrard or Gerald 
Johnson, a Hollander, has been suggested 
Johnson has been credited with having done 
his part of the work well, since, before its 
erection in the chancel of the church, the 
bust was probably approved by Shakespeare's 
relations as a good likeness, and deemed 
worthy of its conspicuous position and of 

the man it repre- 
sented* As is well 
known to all who 
have seen the bust* 
its prominent cha- 
racteristic is the 
calm serenity and 
stately gentleness of 
the expression of the 
features; an expres- 
sion that fairly well 
satisfies the popular 
ideal of England's 
most glorious poet 
Since its erection 
in the chancel— 
some time between 
1616 and 1623 — 
the bust has ex- 
perienced not a few 
vicissitudes* Origin- 
ally coloured over 
to resemble life, 
a custom of the 
period, the bust was 
never once restored 
or touched up in any way till 1748 — a 
century and a quarter afterwards — - when 
its condition alter such a lapse of time 
can UWV fcfetATl^ "jfal^ittltANln the latter 



year, however, at the instance of an 
ancestor of the famous actress, Mrs. Siddons, 
it received careful and loving attention ; the 
old colours were fetched forth anew, and the 
monumental setting was improved and made 
worthy of the poet. The necessary expenses 
of this work were, it is interesting to note, 
defrayed out of the profits of a representation 
of the play of *' Othello " by a company of actors 
11 strolling " by Strat ford-on- A von at the time. 
About fifty years after, Mr. Malone, well 
known in his day as an enthusiastic admirer 
and commentator of Shakespeare, bethought 
him that the bust required further renewing, 
and took it upon himself to " cover it over 
with one or more 
coats of white paint, 
thus/ 5 in the opinion 
of those who wit- 
nessed the sacrile- 
gious act, "at once 
destroying its original 
character and greatly 
injuring the expres- 
sion of the face," For 
this unfortunate dis- 
play of hero-worship, 
M a 1 o n e was 
severely censured, 
and there is at least 
one record extant 
that expresses in a 
measure the feeling 
of annoyance his 
action created at the 
time. In the old 
visitors 1 album at the 
Church of Holy 
Trinity, the following 
lines were inscribed as 
a protest against 
Malone's offence : — 

Stranger ! to wliom this monument is shewn, 
Invoke the poet's curse upon Malone, 
Whose meddling zeal his barlxirous taste betrays, 
And daubs his tomb stone, as he marr'd his plays J 

The bust remained for many years in the 
condition in which M alone had left it. 
Eventually, however, it was restored once 
more. Mai one's daub was completely 
obliterated, and the original colouring, as 
"improved " in the year 1 748, as far as possible 
renewed* In that satisfactory condition the 
bust has, with careful tending, remained ever 
since, though it has been occasionally 
touched up to preserve the glorious features 
of the " carved marble " as they deserve to 
be, and doubtlessly will be, preserved in all 
time to come. 


The inscriptions on the mura! tablet below 
the bust must, of course, ever claim regard 
for their references to. the death of Shake- 
speare, but they are quite overshadowed in 
importance by the well-known inscription 
engraved on the stone slab that covers the 
tomb, since tradition has it that the lines 
were the composition of the poet himself, 
and penned, very probably, when on his 
death-bed They read as follows : — 

Good frend for lesys sake foibeare 
To digg the dyst enc leased here, 
Blese be ye man ft spares thes si ones 
And cvrst be he yl moves my bones, 

The Droeshout Print, 

In point of in- 
trinsic worth and 
literary interest, the 
Droeshout print of 
Shakespeare— an en- 
graving of his likeness 
given to the world for 
the first time along 
with the original edi- 
tion of his collected 
works in 1623 — ranks 
next to the Stratford 
bust. Some autho- 
rities place what is 
known as theChandos 
portrait of the poet 
before the Droeshout 
print; while, again, 
others value the 
print even before 
the bust But there 
are one or two 
good reasons why, 
in this particular 
instance, the work of 
the engraver should 
have prior claim 
to regard to that of the painter. 

In the first place, the Droeshout print was 
executed by a skilful artist whose profession 
it was to "draw from the life " ; whereas the 
Chandos portrait is only supposed to have 
been painted by one or other of two (or 
perhaps of three) men whose calling was that 
of the player* 

The Droeshout print bears, in the second 
place, the special imprimatur oi Shakespeare's 
ever-glorious associate, Ben Jonson ; and not 
only his, but it also has the indorsement of 
the poet's intimate friends and " fell owes," 
Heminge and Condell, who were remembered 
in his last will and testament 

In the third place, there is the very suppes- 
tive faldWWJEft6Ki ; <Qh NlfckHfeAfclbrd bust and 



the Droeshout print there are certain striking 
correspondences, not so observable between 
the bust and the Chandos portrait, that have 
led the best authorities to infer that the 
sculptor of the bust in all probability had the 
print before him while executing the details 
of his work, though modelling mainly from 
the mask taken after the poet's death. If 
that inference be correct, it again further 
infers that the Droeshout print had received 
the approval of the poet's relatives 3 and also 
that Heminge and Condell obtained their 
sanction before affixing it side by side with 
Ben Jonson's dedicatory lines in the forefront 
of the famous first folio referred to. These 
lines declare as follows : — 

To the Read br. 
This figure that thou seest put, 
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut j 
Wherein the graver had a strife 
With Nature, to out -doe the life : 
O, could he but have drawne the wit 
As well in as he ha Eh hit 
His face, the print would then surpasse 
All that was ever writ in Urasse ; 
But since he cannur. Reader, looke 
Not on his picture, but his Buoke. 

B. J. 

In this work of Martin Droeshout there 
is nothing, beyond what the print itself bears, 
to tell of the circumstances in which it was 
originally executed. Assuming that other 
portraits of the poet were, in addition to this 
one, taken during his lifetime, the Droeshout 
print was doubtlessly one of the earliest 
copies. Its date, however, is unknown* 
Judging from the ap- 
pearance of the face 
generally, and com- 
paring that with his 
other likenesses, 
Shakespeare had not, 
it is pretty certain, 
attained his fortieth 
year when, with this 

, + * + * the graver had 

a strife 
With Nature! 

The Chandos 

Of the countless 
editions of the works 
of Shakespeare that 
show a frontispiece 
likeness of the poet, 
it is a singular fact 
that by far the greater 
number favour the 
Chandos portrait. 
The face and features 


of Shakespeare as " imaged " in that portrait 
are those with which his readers are probably 
most familiar. It is not easy to account for 
this, since the portrait is certainly not the first 
in point of genuineness, whatever may be its 
degree of artistic merit, Possibly it satisfies 
more fully the popular ideal of the likeness 
of a great creative poet than does the bust 
or print just referred to. Be that as it may, 
the Chandos portrait, for various reasons, 
more than justifies its being kept in the 
custody of the nation as a very rare and 
valuable relic of its greatest dramatist Its 
history is, briefly, as follows : - 

According to the catalogue of the National 
Portrait Gallery, where the relic is now safe- 
guarded: lj The Chandos portrait was the 
property of John Taylor, the player, by whom, 
or by Richard Bur badge, it was painted. The 
picture was left by the former in his will to 
Sir William Dave nan t After his death it 
was bought by Betterton, the actor, upon 
whose decease Mr. Keck, of the Temple, 
purchased it for forty guineas, from whom it 
was inherited by Mr. Nicholls, of Michenden 
House, Southgate, Middlesex, whose only 
daughter married James, Marquis of Car- 
narvon, afterwards Duke of Chandos, father 
of Eliza, Duchess of Buckingham," Hence 
the name of the portrait, and such, in sub- 
stance, is all that is known with certainty 
regarding its history. 

The Jansen Portrait. 
It is a remarkable circumstance that not a 
few of the best-known 
likenesses of Shake- 
speare should have 
been executed by 
others than his own 
countrymen. As its 
name would seem to 
imply, the " jansen " 
portrait was also the 
production of a 
foreigner. There are 
others, also, of the 
S hakes pear ea n like- 
nesses yet to be con- 
sidered that owe their 
origin very largely to 
the skill of devout 
admirers of the poet 
who were not in any 
way of his national 
kith or kin. In the 
11 Jansen M portrait, so 
called from the name 
of the painter, Corne- 
iV.Uijblljbanson, it is quite 




possible that we have a picture of Shakespeare 
that shows him as he appeared about his 
forty-sixth year, and when fast approaching, 
if not already arrived at, the summit of his 
physical and intellectual strength and glory. 
It is also possible that the likeness was 
painted as a memento or token of that 
friendship and regard which w T ere entertained 
for the poet by the Earl of Southampton 
almost from the outset of Shakespeare's 

The Felton Head. 

Apart from the question of authenticity, 
it is safe to say that the likeness of Shake- 
speare known under the name of the 
Felt on head is one that will probably 
fascinate, more than any other portrait, the 
great majority of the poet's admirers. It will, 
however, speak for itself as to this. But for 
a somewhat severe and sad, if not dissatisfied, 
look that seems to haunt the eyes, the 
portrait takes rank, in at least its excellence 
of ideality, with any other example. Allowing 
for some exaggeration in the height of the 
forehead, a defect which has led some experts 
to infer that the Felton portrait was in 
existence even before the Droeshout print, 
and that, indeed, it served as the model for 
the engraver, it is assuredly a splendid por- 
trait of Shakespeare, and speaks eloquently 
of the painter's lofty conception of the poet's 
features, Its history is curious, if for nothing 
more than the fact that the name, "Gull 

Shakespear," and the date, " 1597," together 
with the initials, " R. B*," traced on the 
reverse side of the picture, indicate the 
likeness to have been, as some authorities 
believe, the handiwork of Richard Burbadge, 
the player, who is thus for the second time 
identified with his great contemporary in this 
interesting connection. 

The " Becker " Mask, 

In the year 1849 there was discovered at 
Mayence what bore to he a genuine though 
gruesome relic of Shakespeare, and claimed 
to be set almost side by side in value 
and interest with the Stratford bust itself. 
This relic was declared to be nothing less 
than the mask of the face and features of the 
poet taken after his death in April, 1616. 
As nothing was ever known as to what befell 
the mask after Gerard Johnson had mani- 
pulated it in the preparation of the bust — 
assuming it had been in his hands for that 
purpose- -the finding of such an extraordinary 
relic created widespread interest, not only 
throughout England and Europe, but in 
America, where also there were those who 
were ready to believe in its story with sincere 

The resurrection of the veritable death- 
mask of the immortal author of ** Hamlet" 
not unnaturally suggests, as it no doubt 
su^ested at the time, a famous scene in the 
last act of that famous tragedy. Neverthe- 
less, its discovery was hailed with enthusiasm, 
and what purported to be an undoubted clue 



3 21 

to a mystery more than 
two centuries old was 
taken up at once and 
followed with rare per- 
sistence by those who 
declared they held, in 
the possession of the 
mask, the only key to 
its solution. 

The gentleman into 
whose possession this 
curiosity came was 
named Ludwig Becker, 
who, writing in 1850, 
gave so entertaining an 
account of it as to 
induce Mr. Page, a well- 
known artist of New 
York, to visit Germany 
and there examine this 
famous relic for himself 
After a prolonged scru- 
tiny of the mask, Mr, 
Page declared his firm belief in its bona fides % 
and thereupon made from it a very interesting 
set of models of the features of Shakespeare, 
which, at the time, attracted great attention. 
An excellent account of the history of the mask 
was also written by Mr. Page for Scr timers 
Magazine of May, 1876. The relic itself 
was brought to London for exhibition, where 
it secured many admirers and willing be- 
lievers, and it is actually recorded that some 
were so affected by the sight that they 
burst into tears ! 

The Stratford Portrait, 


Like the t( Becker 
portrait of Shake- 
speare, so - called 
from its having 
been discovered {in 
i860) in that town, 
is quite a modern 
"find" Whether 
the portrait had its 
original home in 
London or else- 
where is unknown ; 
but, like the 
" Becker" mask, it, 
too, was taken to 
the Metropolis for 
public exhibition. 
Many opinions 
were pronounced 
in favour of its 
genuineness^ while 
many more unhest- 

" mask, the Stratford 

tatingly discredited it. 
At the time of its exhi- 
bition a newspaper war- 
fare was waged over the 
question with results that, 
on the whole, were un- 
favourable to the preten- 
sions of the portrait. 

In this likeness Shake- 
speare appears as if in 
the very flush and hey- 
day of his early manhood 
and strength, A robust, 
almost bucolic, massive- 
ness and compactness is, 
perhaps, the prominent 
physical trait. A calm, 
dignified repose fills the 
full, winsome eyes, and 
at the same time gently 
compresses the eloquent 
lips. The forehead is 
ample : somewhat less 
lofty than in the bust, much less so 
than in almost any other portrait but 
still a fine, full brow that could only have 
been that of a highly gifted man. Like so 
much else connected with Shakespeare* the 
history of this portrait — when, and by whom, 
and for whom painted — Is enveloped in 

Some authorities believe it to have been 
the work of a local amateur, who either painted 
it to satisfy his own or another's ideal* Some 
even incline to the view that it was made to 
order, to do duty as a common tavern-sign 1 
If so t then it is surely one of the best 
examples of the kind ever executed- After 






having been exhibited in London, the picture 
was taken back to Stratford, where it has 
ever since found a place of honour and 
safety in the house in Henley Street where 
Shakespeare was born. 

The Hiijjard and Auriol Miniatures, 

The former is 
by far the more 
interesting and 
m eri torious. 
When its pre- 
tensions to genu- 
ineness were put 
forward early in 
the present cen- 
tury, the Milliard 
miniature be- 
longed to Sir 
James Bland 
B urges, Bart., 
who, in a letter 
to a friend giving 

an account of it, alleged that it had been 
discovered in a bureau which belonged to his 
mother, who had inherited it from her father. 
Lord Somerville, and thus traced its history 

back to the days when the 
poet lived in retirement at 

The Auriol miniature is 
certainly more pretentious 
than the other, though 
greatly inferior as a work 
of art or even as a likeness 
of the poet. It was claimed 
for it that it at one time 
belonged to the South- 
ampton family, but there 
is no evidence of this, It 
bears to have been painted 
when Shakespeare was in 
his thirty - third year, 
and it is recorded that 
" to the bottom of the 
frame of the miniature 
was appended a pearl, 
intended to infer that the 
original was a p€arl &f 
men I tt 

The Dun ford Likeness. 

If the likeness known 
as the Dunford portrait 
has the slightest resem- 
blance in any particular to 
Shakespeare, that indivi- 
dual is exceptionally 
gifted who can trace 
the same. When its claims were put 
forward for the first time in 1815, Mr, 
Dunford, the owner, assured the public 
that he "saw in the portrait a likeness 
to the Droeshout print" Mr. Wivill, the 
well-known expert, compared them carefully 
and was afraid the resemblance was of 
the kind discovered by Fluellan between 
Macedon and Monmouth! When the por- 
trait was exhibited shortly after its dis- 
covery in the year mentioned, it is recorded 

that i( of not 
more than 
6,000 who 
went to see it t 
3,000 declared 
their belief in 
its originality," 
Even an au- 
thority like Sir 
Thomas Law- 
rance voted in 
its favour* 
Moreover, it 
was twice en- 
graved by 
ZkdUA IGAflurner in 


3 2 3 

public, viz,, its easy gullibility in matters 
appertaining to Shakespeare, 

Zousx f s Portrait. 

An excellent likeness of the poet, which 
strikingly recalls the Chandos portrait, is 


mczzotinto, so sincerely did many persons 
believe in it as a true likeness of Shakespeare. 
Eventually, however, it lost credit, and is now 
only remembered as an instance of that 
strange trait in the character of the British 



one that was alleged to have been 
painted by Soest, or ZousL As 
that artist was not born till 1635, 
when Shakespeare had been dead 
for nineteen years, his example must 
have been from a copy — probably 
that in the possession of Sir William 
Da vena nt, afterwards known as the 
Chandos portrait 

The Stace Picture, 

What is known as Stace's picture 
of Shakespeare is reminiscent, like 
that by Zoust, of the Chandos like- 
ness , in so far as the arrangement 
of the figure and dress and the 
expression of the features are in 
some points not unlike. The history 
of this picture is peculiar in that it 
has had an unusual spirituous aroma 
about it Discovered early in the 
present century in a public-house, 
"The Three Pigeons," Shoreditch, 
where it hung for more than forty 
years, its glory "all unbeknown," 
it was sold by auction at another 
public-housd^fCtttQfcN Old Green 



the lost portraits of Shakespeare would 
make, to be sure ! 

The Zincke Likeness. 
" The earth hath bubbles as the water hath, 
and this of them/ 1 is the not inappropriate 
foot-note which the engraver printed on his 

G I I.L I J, A X P * YOH T R A I T. 

Dragon," Wilson Street, Moorfields. Its ulti- 
mate destination, however, was u far otherwise," 
if it really was the case that *' its purchaser, 
having formed such an attachment to the 
portrait, secured it by lock and chain in a 
costly case to be buried with him at his 
decease ! w 

G jujland's Portrait. 
If this picture has any merit at all it is in 
its bald antiquity, In this curious likeness 
of Shakespeare, 
which was discovered 
about seventy years 
ago, there is at least 
a guid auld grey- 
bairdle bit o' a man, 
as we say in Scotland: 
nothing more. The 
pu rchaser, Th o m as 
(Jilliland, writing in 
t&i-jj declared it was 
his impression that 
the portrait was 
painted about the 
time of Shake - 
speare, " either by 
an artist who had 
seen him, or who 
copied a genuine por- 
trait of the poet nmv 
ff>st, as this likeness 
differs from all the 
portraits published or 
known," What an 
interesting gallery 



copy of the likeness of Shakespeare known 
by the above name. Here again, for the 
third time, is Richard Burbadge, the actor, 

associated with what 
pretends to be a por- 
trait of his friend ; 
while, for the second 
time, in like manner, 
the name of Ben Jon- 
son is connected with 
it. Of course the 
picture is only a fab- 
rication, "concocted" 
about 1820 by the 
artist whose name it 

The Portrait hy 
Those who are 
familiar with the por- 
trait of Shelley will 
not fail to note the 
very striking resem- 
blance between it and 
the above example. 
Rut it, too, has small 
claims to be regarded 



T was cold and dull enough, 
outside, on that wintry Feb- 
ruary morning, but in Hum- 
phrey Warden's handsomely 
furnished breakfast- room all 
was comfort and cosiness, 
and the heart of George Clinton, the 
ambitious young dramatic author, grew a 
trifle braver as he entered the pleasant apart- 
ment in the wake of the trim parlour -maid. 
A glance at the round table, however, with 
its steaming coffee-pot, and still covered 
silver dishes, which reflected the flames of 
the fire in the most cheery fashion, speedily 
reduced him to his former condition of 
pitiable nervousness, 

" I am afraid," he stammered, indicating 
the well -spread breakfast- table ; " I am afraid 
there must be some mistake. I am not a 
friend of Mr. Warden's : I have called on a 
matter of business," 

"Oh, yes, sir, it's quite right," the maid 
replied, brightly; "master said I was to show 
you into the breakfast-room, if you came 
before he was down, I was to ask you to 
take a comfortable chair, and to give you the 

But George Clinton did not attempt to 
study the news of the day. Seating himself, 

" The author reserves the ri^ht of dramaimng thin story. 

Vol viij 

he leant back in the luxurious chair and 
looked- around him. 

"It's the house of a gentleman and 
an artist," he muttered, remarking the 
etchings on the walls, and a picture 
covered with a curtain on an easel 
"Well, it's a comfort to have to do with- 
a cultivated man ; they are always more 
inclined to make allowances, I am 
Skid, after all, I accepted Moore's offer 
of a personal introduction to Humphrey 
Warden. It certainly is heart-breaking 
work sending in plays to managers. 
You may wait six months, and then they 
are returned without having been opened, 
apparently. In this case I must know my 
fate, one way or the other, within an hour. 
It's awfully nervous work, though," he con- 
tinued, dabbing his forehead. " Fm sick with 
anxiety, If Warden will only take the little 
piece, I am certain it would catch on, he is so 
tremendously popular : and then my fortune 
would be as good as made, for I know my 
long plays are better than this — I am sure 
they are— and yet nobody will even look at 
them. By Jove ! my mouth's getting dry ; 
I hope I shan't stammer ! Oh, Lord, 
here he comes! Confound it! what a fool 
I am ! " 

But when Clinton's eyes fell upon Hum- 
phrey Warden, the successful actor, and the 
manager of the most popular comedy house 
in London, his fears grew quieter. A less 
alarming, more genial-looking man, in facr, 
it would be impossible to imagine. Hum- 
phrey Warden was diminutive in stature, but 
he was thoroughly well set-up, and dressed 
to perfection ; his prematurely white hair 
contrasted pleasantly with his fresh com- 
plexion and bright blue eyes, and altogether 
there was an air of vigour, and yet of homely 
refinement, about him which comforted 

CB »ffi?m%mite# almost em,> 

32 6 


tional when the little gentleman advanced 
towards him with outstretched hand, saying, 
in brisk, cheery tones : — 

" Good morning, Mr* Clinton ! I'm sorry 
tr> have kept you waiting. It's not like me to 
do that : I pride myself upon being the most 


punctual man in town. Here, let me take 
that newspaper and parcel, and then we can 
shake hands, I am delighted to make the 
acquaintance of any friend of Moore's. Ah ! 
this is the little play, I see. Well, let us set 
to work at once, I daresay you are anxious 
to get it over," 

" Why, yes, I confess I am/' Clinton 
answered, with a grateful but sickly smile. * ( I 
should consider myself very lucky if I suc- 
ceeded in pleasing you, sir, for I think if I 
could once get a hearing, I might do some 
good work." 

" Of course, my dear fellow, why not ? 
Everybody must have a beginning. Now, 
then, where would you like to sit — back to the 
lire, or not? I can easily alter the arrange- 
ment of the table," 

"Oh, pray, don't/' Clinton cried. w It 
doesn't matter a bit, really." 

"Ah, but it does," Humphrey Warden 
persisted, kindly, fussing round the table with 
much energy, " I want you to be perfectly 
comfortable, Clinton, Now, what do you 
say to this place? All right? Very well, 
then, put your MS- here, Now seat your- 

self and fire away — unless, by the way, youll 
join me at breakfast ? " 

" No, indeed, thank you ; I have break- 
fasted," the young author replied, faintly, 

opening his manu- 
script and clearing 
his throat. 

"I'm sorry for 
that," Warden re- 
sponded, brightly ; 
" but perhaps we 
haven't too much 
time as it is. You 
won't mind my eat- 
ing while you read, 
I'm sure? " 

" Not at all ; I 
should like it," Clin- 
ton replied, quickly. 
"I should feel less 

" That's all right, 
then/' the other 
said, with a smile, 
" I shall not inter- 
rupt you — I feed 
very quietly. The 
other two places 
that you see set are 
for my daughter and 
my secretary, Henry 
Browne, They are 
used to hearing 
plays read, you needn't mind them. Browne's 
gone round to the theatre for the morning 
letters, and she's not down yet — was out late 
last , night My daughter, Mrs. Somerset, is 
my housekeeper, you understand ; she's 
quite a girl , only twenty -two ; but she's been 
a widow for nearly four years. She was 
married when she was seventeen, and was a 
mother on her eighteenth birthday. Now 
then, let us start," 

Again Clinton cleared his throat, and with 
his heart thumping painfully, straightened his 

" By-the-hye/ 1 the manager remarked, 
"how long will the play read ? " 

"Oh, less than half an hour," Clinton 
answered, moistening his parched lips, 

"Good \ n Warden ejaculated, briskly* "I 
put an hour aside for you. You can have no 
idea, my dear fellow, how I have to plan out 
my days. First there's this, and then there's 
that, and then there's the other. Somebody 
comes for an engagement, for instance— never 
a day passes without that; and I am not 
surprised ; for, I say it without conceit, there's 
no th W .^ W ^^ OT i^in London. 



I take a personal interest in all my people, 
and, no matter how busy I am, can always 
find time to listen to their hopes and fears." 

"That's very good of you," Clinton 
murmured, smoothing out his manuscript. 

Warden pushed back his plate and, rising, 
walked to the fire-place, jingling his loose 
money merrily in his pockets. 

" I like to encourage young talent," he 
said, with much earnestness; "but, un- 
fortunately, as a rule the most ridiculously 
absurd people that ever you saw are those 
who wish to adopt the stage as a profession. 
Now, Clinton, what do you imagine to be the 
qualifications that are necessary before a 
man or woman can hope for success on the 
stage?" Clinton hesitated and fingered his 
manuscript anxiously. " You can't give an 
opinion, eh? Well, I'll tell you, and you 
may be sure I know what I'm talking about" 

Drawing a deep breath, the little man 
folded his arms across his breast, and 
straightening his figure, with his eyes 
sparkling with animation, proceeded in full, 
round tones : — 

" You want, in the first place, good ap- 
pearance ; in the second, good voice ; in the 
third, marked intellectual powers; in the 
fourth, grand facial expression, an eye which 
indicates a mind of no common order — an 
eye wherein the soul of the man is reflected ; 
a figure of dignity — not necessarily tall, 
mind you — and a general air of capability 
and superiority. I say it without conceit, 
but you may take my word for it, all these 
things are absolutely necessary to success." 

Crimson in the face, Clinton made a 
desperate effort. 

" I am afraid I made a slight mistake," he 
faltered ; " I fancy now that my play will read 
a trifle over half an hour," 

" Well, we've allowed a good margin," 
Warden responded, cheerily, reseating him- 
self. "I always allow a good margin in 
these cases, because there are certain to be 
plenty of small details to consult over. I'm 
considered a capital adviser on these subjects. 
I've got the bump of construction very 
strongly developed in my cranium ; my head's 
a most remarkable shape — in fact, the 
imaginative faculties are simply abnormally 
developed ; and I'm sure any assistance I can 
give you with regard to your little play, I 
shall be most " 

" You'll tell me the truth, sir, I hope," 
Clinton interrupted ; " you won't try to spare 
my feelings. I want your genuine opinion." 

"And you shall have it, my dear boy," the 
other replied, warmly. " If I don't like your 

piece, I'll tell you so candidly ; if I do — well, 
I won't raise hopes which may not be 
realized, but I should be really glad to do a 
good turn for any friend of Moore's. Now, 
fire away ! " 

"And you will not let my bad reading 
prejudice you against the piece ? " the palpitat- 
ing author continued, with a sickly smile. 
" Authors never can read their own works, 
I'm told." 

" They can't, my boy, I know it ! " Warden 
assented, with a laugh! " I say it, without 
conceit : there's no man living who's a better 
elocutionist than I am ; but even I cannot 
read my own plays." 

" I wasn't aware, sir, that you were a 
writer as well as an actor," Clinton cried, 

Rising quickly, Warden crossed the room. 
" Come here," he said, briskly. 

With rather a scared countenance, Clinton 
placed his manuscript upon the table, and 
joined the manager, who stood before a well- 
filled book-case. 

" Do you see that row of quarto volumes ? " 
the dapper little man asked, with his head 
on one side, and his bright eyes gleaming 
with interest. 

"Yes," Clinton stammered. 

" All bound manuscripts, my dear fellow ; 
my own, every one of them. Look here. 
Strong titles these ! * The Human Scorpion '; 
'Herod Out-Heroded'; 'The Red Hand.' 
A splendid character-part for a man in ' The 
Human Scorpion.' Irving didn't seem to see 
it; yet — I say it in all modesty — I don't 
believe any such part has ever been written 
before. He'd have made a tremendous hit 
in it. Now, in ' Herod Out-Heroded,' the 
man's part is strong ; stronger, I * can confi- 
dently assert, than most of the parts one finds 
in plays ; a man who has to say in the last 
scene — ' I am not a murderer, I despise the 
word ! I am Nemesis ! Others kill their 
tens : they murder in detail. I make of the 
whole world a holocaust ! ' You won't find 
a speech like that in any play that I know of. 
'The Red Hand,' too, has magnificent parts 
all round, simply magnificent ! If a man wants 
an opportunity for tenderness, for pas- 
sionate declamation, and for high comedy, 
he couldn't get a better chance — I speak it 
impartially — than the hero in 'The Red 
Hand ' ; but 'The Human Scorpion ' is simply 
a dramatic inspiration ! Such a situation 
has never been dreamt of before. The 
Scorpion is a good man, mind you, a noble 
character, but he suffers from a strange 
affliction. The ends of his fingers sting 


3 2 *> 


everyone that he touches, and the sting is 
poisonous ! There you are, you see. It's a 
grand idea. His mother dies mysteriously. 
His lover dies mysteriously, and in the last 
scene he commits suicide in a very curious 
manner. Quite original, I assure you. 
Stings himself — you understand? Irving, 
with his long, white fingers, would have 
made your blood creep. But, there, the 
cleverest men can't recognise their oppor- 
tunities sometimes. Now, the manner 
in which the plot of ' The Human Scorpion ' 
was first suggested to my mind was rather 
extraordinary. You know plots flash across 
your brain in a moment " 

" They do ! " Clinton cried, with a catch 
in his breath, " they undoubtedly do. The 
plot of that little play I'm here to read to you, 
for instance, came to me in an instant" 

Dropping the volume he had abstracted 
from the shelf, Warden ran his fingers through 
his hair, and hurriedly led the way towards 
the table. 

"Why, bless me, of course, I had for- 
gotten ! " he murmured, penitently. "I must 
apologize, really. Please sit down and com- 
mence. I've finished my breakfast, and can 
attend entirely. The others are extra late to- 
day, I suppose " 

" I have not named the play yet," Clinton 

" Indeed !" Warden cried, starting forward 
in his chair. " I may be able to help you 
there. I am especially good at titles." 

His forehead growing moist, Clinton pro- 
ceeded hastily, paying no heed to the 

" These are the characters represented : 
the Reverend Felix Findlater; Frederick 
Hammer ; Joseph, a footman ; Marjorie 
Findlater ; Sybil Findlater ; Emma, a house- 
maid. The scene is the morning-room 
at " 

Clinton stopped abruptly. The door 
opened softly, and an elderly, spectacled 
man came in. 

" Ah, Browne, good morning ! " the 
manager cried, heartily. " Here, come along, 
old man, your breakfast is getting cold. 
Now, what will you have? Bacon, kidneys, 
fish ? But first let me introduce you to Mr. 
George Clinton, a friend of Jack Moore's, 
who has come to read a play to me." 

The author and secretary bowed to each 
other, while Warden continued, with genuine 
feeling : — 

" Clinton, this is my right hand, my old 
school chum, Henry Browne. If you knew 
half the good of him that I do " 


Helping himself quietly to bacon and 
coffee, with a glance at the flushed, anxious 
young author, Browne remarked, gently : — 

" Mr. Clinton will not care to discurs my 
virtues now, I'm sure. Go on with your 
reading, please." 

" Just one moment," Warden said, depre- 
catingly. " Clinton will excuse me, I'm sure. 
Any letters, Browne ? " 

" Not one of any interest," the secretary 
replied, firmly. 

" Let me have a look at them, my boy." 

" But Mr. Clinton is reading, isn't he ? " 

" No. We haven't begun yet." 

" Oh, haven't you ? " the other responded, 
meaningly. "Well, here they are, but I 
assure you there's nothing in them." 

" By George ! " Warden cried, looking over 
the bulky bundle, perfectly oblivious of the 
blank expression of the perturbed author. 
" By George ! plenty of ladies this morning, 
any way ! " 

" All applications for seats or engagements," 
Browne explained, curtly. 

" Any good, the latter ? " 

" Not a bit. Fashionable amateurs." 

Throwing himself back in his chair, 
Warden thrust his hands into his pockets, 
and once more jingled the contents loudly, 
saying, merrily : — 

"As I remarked just now, Clinton, you 
would scarcely credit the people who write 
for engagements. You remember the squint- 
ing girl with no chin, Browne? The one 
who actually sent her photo ! Ha ! ha ! 
Where is that photo, by the way ? I've got 
it somewhere, I know." 
- Springing up, he turned towards an escri- 
toire ; but before he could take a step, 
Browne laid his hand upon his arm. 

" Come, Warden," he said, " Mr. Clinton 
doesn't want to see that hideous thing." 

" I am sure he does," the other answered, 
innocently ; " it's quite a curiosity." 

"Give him the choice, any way," the 
secretary urged. 

" I don't think I do care about seeing it 
just now, thank you all the same," Clinton 
said, hoarsely. 

" Oh, all right, please yourself — you don't 
know what you've missed, that's all," Warden 
replied, reseating himself with a slightly 
aggrieved countenance. " Now, Clinton, I'm 
ready. First, though — How's the wind, 
Browne ? " 


" Good ! I might have known without 
asking, though. 1 feel thoroughly fit this 
morning. You csin t imagine the effect 




atmospheric changes have on me, Clinton ; 
I am no use at all when the wind is in the 
easL I am simply a cumberer on the earth 
at such times. The fact is, my nerves are 
too highly strung, altogether* It's my artistic 
temperament, I suppose. Lord bless me, I 
led my poor dear mother a life when I was a 
child. Why, before I was twelve I had 
measles, whooping - cough, scarlet fever, 
chicken-pox 1J — Browne coughed — "I beg 
your pardon, did you speak, Browne ? " 

" Certainly not," the secretary replied^ 
emphatically : " I am waiting for Mr. Clinton 
to begin/' 

" To be sure," Warden assented, kindly, 
" Your pardon again, Clinton, Now, 

Clintons voice shook a little, as with a 
relieved countenance he recommenced : 
** Scene, interior of morning room at " 

Once more the door opened and a lady 
entered. Clinton's nerves were beginning to 
assert themselves very inconveniently, but 
notwithstanding his uncomfortable condition 
he noted that the nesv-comer was charming 
to look upon, and that she strongly resembled 
the genial manager, Very quietly she took 
her seat at the foot of the table, with a 
gesture to show that she perceived the 
necessity for silence. Bowing politely to the 
author, she blew a kiss to her father, nodded 
familiarly to Browne, and then noiselessly 

helped herself to food. But Warden was 
not to be restrained. 

l< Ah, Dolly, my love 1" he cried, warmly ; 
" you are late, little woman, Quite well to- 
day, dear ? " 

" Quite, thank you, father/' Mrs. Somerset 
replied, quickly. 

11 This is my daughter, Clinton," Warden 
continued, regarding her with Loving pride. 
"Mr Clinton has come to read a play, my 

"I know, I am so sorry to have inter- 
rupted/' the lady said, turning graciously to 
the young man. " Please go on." 

"One moment, Clinton, I'm glad you've 
come in, Dolly," Warden proceeded, passing 
toast and potted meat fussily, " because now 
you can give your opinion on the play, I 
assure you, Clinton, Mrs. Somerset has very 
correct judgment Her taste has been 
cultivated carefully. She has read the whole 
of my plays, and I've even altered scenes at 
her suggestion." 

Again he threw himself back in his chair, 
and stretching out his neat little feet, rattled 
his money and keys, and smiled benevolently 
at his sweet daughter, 

"You remember that scene in 'The 
Human Scorpion,' Dolly?" he asked, with a 
happy twinkle in his bird-like, brown eyes. 

Flushing charmingly, Mrs. Somerset stole 
a swift glance at Clinton's rapidly paling face, 
and then answered, with a pretty little frown 
at her unconscious father : — 

11 Yes, dear, I recollect it perfectly. Now, 
Mr, Clinton, do please go on. If you haven't 
gone far, I shall gather your meaning, I'm 

"Oh, we haven't got far!" the father 
exclaimed, cheerfully, 

" Only as far as 
the description of 
the characters, 
yet," Browne inter- 
posed, meaninglv. 
"Oh !" Mrs, 
Somerset ejacula- 
ted, doubtfully. 

"It's fortunate, 
isn't it?" Warden 
"Would you 
mnd just running 
through the char- 
acters again, Clin- 
ton, for my daugtv 
ter's sake ? " 

" Not at all," 

Original from 

Clinton answered, 



earnestly. "Mrs. Somerset honours me by 
showing an interest in my play." His heart 
growing lighter, he raised the manuscript and 
read : — 

" The Reverend Felix Findlater ; Frederick 
Hammer ; Joseph, a footman ; Marjorie 
Findlater ; Sybil Findlater ; Emma, a house- 

Warden placed the tips of his fingers 
together, and nodded his white head approv- 

" Nice, compact little cast. Three men and 
three women." 

"Oh, ah, I ought to have explained," 
Clinton interposed ; " Sybil Findlater is a 

" A child ! Good ! " Humphrey Warden 
cried, enthusiastically. " You are fond of 
children, Clinton ? " 

" Very," the author replied, readily. 

His face beaming with smiles, Warden 
sprang up, and going to the door, opened it. 

bring Miss 
Mabel," he cal- 
led. Then turn- 
ing to Clinton, 
he continued : 
" If you are 
fond of child- 
ren, you must 
see my grand- 

With a very 
pale counten- 
ance and a wan 
smile, Clinton 
replaced his 
upon the table ; 
but he did not 
speak : he could 

Mrs. Somerset 
said, firmly, 
" please don't 
call Sophie, I 
told her not to 

obey his behest, the young mother took its 

little hand in hers, and said, with an air of 

sweet severity : — 

" Now, Mabel, kiss grandpapa, and then run 

away with Sophie at once, because we're 


"Oh, dear!" laughed Warden, with a 

humorous grimace ; " oh, dear, mother is cross 

this morning, isn't she ? " 

Lifting the child, he fondled the golden 

head lovingly. "That's my darling I" he 

murmured, holding the soft cheek against his 

own. "Now, Mabel, how d'ye do — and a 

kiss for Brownie, old friends first." 

The child stretched towards the secretary, 

who, rising, kissed her hastily and re-seated 


" Halloa ! " the manager exclaimed, " that 

was rather a peck, wasn't it, my precious ? 

Never mind, birdie, there's another instead." 
Kissing her again and again, the little 

man pranced round the room, still carrying 

the child, who 
laughed and 
screamed with 
pleasure ; lean- 
ing her sunny 
head against 
his, the gold 
and silver 
threads min- 
gling together. 
It was a pretty 
picture, the 
two were so 
happy, but 
neither of the 
silent lookers- 
on appreciated 
it. Presently, 
out of breath, 
Warden stop- 
ped at Clinton's 

"Now, Mabel," 
he panted, 
" how do, and 
a kiss for Mr. 

bring Mabel in 
this morning." 

" But, my darling," the father expostulated, 
"the child always comes in just to say how 
do you do. I daresay the dear little soul is 
in great distress at being kept away. She 
won't hinder us a moment ; besides, Clinton is 
fond of children. Ah, here she is ! Here's my 
pet ! Come here, come to grandpa, Mabel ! " 

But before the golden-haired toddler could 


Clinton, my 

" Father ! " Mrs. Somerset cried, advancing. 

"Nonsense, Dolly," the father retorted. 
" Clinton's fond of children. Now then, pet." 

Terribly ill at ease, the unfortunate author 
rose ; but his woe-begone visage was not 
inviting, and after a glance at it, Mabel turned 
away, and, clutching her grandfather tightly 
round the neck, hid her lace on his shoulder. 




" Oh, come, come, Mabel, that's silly ! " 
Warden said, with a chuckle of delight ; "the 
gentleman's waiting. Now, darling, do as 
grandfather tells you." 

But the baby clung the closer, and Wardens 
face grew quite grave. 

"Mabel," he went on, earnestly, "kiss Mr. 
Clinton, or I shall be angry." 

With the flush getting deeper on her 
cheeks, Mrs. Somerset went to her father. 

" Father, dear," she pleaded, "as a favour 
to me, let the child go. She is inclined to 
be naughty altogether, this morning." 

Warden shook his head and tried to look 

" All the more reason not to give in to her," 
he remarked, firmly. " Mabel, kiss Mr. 
Clinton at once ! Clinton, please hold your 
face a little nearer." 

With a sensation as of cold water running 
down his back, the hapless author protruded 
his forlorn countenance ; but the child, having 
stolen a peep at him, began to cry vigorously, 
and even to kick, whereat her grandfather 
lost patience. 

" Hang it all ! " he ejaculated, warmly ; 
" this child is getting too obstinate by half. 
But I will not be beaten by her. Come here, 
Dolly, and make her do as I tell her. Oh, don't 
move, Clinton, keep your face just as it is." 

Clinton began to totter on his feet, and 
Mrs. Somerset, with sparkling eyes, took the 
child from the somewhat irate, elderly man, 
and put her into the arms of the maid, cry- 
ing sharply : — 

" Take her away at once ; at once, Sophie, 
do you hear ? I am sorry, father, to inter- 
fere," she continued, more gently — " but, 
dear, do recollect Mr. Clinton's business is 

His good temper quite restored, Warden 
turned to the agitated young man. 

" My dear boy," he said, " you must for- 
give me. That small minx is the apple of my 
eye, bless her ! Now, Dolly, attend, please : 
don't talk." 

Browne smothered a laugh, and Clinton 
recommenced unsteadily : — 

" Interior of morning room at Mr. 
Findlater's. Handsomely furnished apart- 
ment. Family portraits on walls. Old 
Master over mantelshelf " 

" Pictures ! Old Master ! Good ! " Warden 
cried, rattling his money excitedly. "Are 
you fond of pictures, Clinton ? " 

Mrs. Somerset and Browne coughed simul- 
taneously, and the scared author raised his 
eyes, but he could make nothing of their 

signals and head shakings 




" Yes," he replied, drearily, " yes, I'm fond 
of pictures." 

Warden rose, and walking briskly to the 
easel, withdrew the curtain and disclosed an 
utterly incomprehensible painting : a worthless 
imitation of a well-known artist, meaningless 
daubs of yellow being depicted upon an 
impenetrably black background. 

" If you're fond of pictures, here's some- 
thing will delight you," Warden cried, 
gloatingly. " Now, what do you think of 

The young man hesitated. 

" I don't call that a picture," Warden 

" No, no more do " 

"It's a poem, sir, not a picture. I say 
it, and you won't find me far wrong in 
matters artistic. I am an art critic by 
instinct, in fact Never had a lesson, but 
I know exactly how a thing ought to be. 
If I hadn't taken to the stage, I should 
have made a first-rate painter. Why, I have 
suggested a dozen subjects, any one of which 
might have made a big sensation ; but 
painters are queer folk: they never seem 
disposed to take an idea from anyone else. 
Now, that man is an exception, that landscape 
is the result of a suggestion of mine; but 
he's a genius, this fellow is, and yet he has 
never once been hung at the R.A. But 
how can you wonder ? Think who are the 
successful artists nowadays — just you run 
through their names " 

" Father ! " Mrs. Somerset interrupted, 
desperately. " Unless he goes on, I shall 
forget the names of Mr. Clinton's characters." 

" By Jove ! Yes, of course. My dear, 
you are perfectly right. Clinton, I must 
apologize again. Sit down, my boy. By-the- 
bye, would you mind giving me some idea of 
the idiosyncrasies of the characters before 
you start off? It helps one so much in 
understanding a play. One doesn't miss 

Greatly reassured, for Warden appeared at 
last to have settled down calmly, Clinton 
replied, quite cheerfully : — 

"By all means. Well, the Rev. Felix 
Findlater is a man who thoroughly believes 
in himself " 

" I know," chuckled Warden ; " I know, a 
very objectionable sort of person " 

" A man," continued Clinton, " who has 
all sorts of new theories, and lays down the 
law about them." 

Raising his hand with an excited gesture, 
the manager cried, triumphantly : — 

" New ! Lay ! I understand it now ! It's 





been bothering me all along ; but those words 
of yours have solved the mystery. Browne, 
where's your new-laid egg ? " 

"1 have not ordered it to-day, father/' 
Mrs, Somerset replied, quickly. 

" Why, my child ? Isn't there one ? " 

"Oh, yes/' the lady replied ; "but I told 
them not to send it in, as Mr. Clinton was 

" My dear, you were wrong," the father 
said, in gentle reproof; "that accounts for 
the little pet's naughtiness altogether. Order 
it at once," 

Mrs. Somerset saw Clinton lay down the 
MS. with shaking hands. 

" I really cannot," she said, decisively, 

" Then I will," Warden remarked, slightly 
ruffled, striking a small gong. " I am sure," 
he continued, amiably, "Clinton is too 
kind-hearted to take offence. This is a little 
rustom, Clinton, and a pretty custom, too. 
Sophie/' to the maid who had entered, 
"send in Mr. Browne's egg at once," 

"Very well, sir, it is boiled. Cook didn't 
know it wasn't to come in till after she had 
boiled it." 

" Browne had an awfully bad illness a year 
ago, Clinton," the manager explained, his 

bright eyes suddenly growing 
misty; "we thought he'd have 
slipped through our fingers, by 
George, we did ! And the first 
thing he ate, after refusing food 
for weeks, was an egg that the 
baby carried to his bedside. Ever 
since that, Mabel has brought 
in her dear Brownie's new-laid 
egg each morning. That's what 
upset the sensitive little soul. 
She didn't see why she should 
be done out of her privileges. 
Curious, wasn't it ? Your words 
1 Neiv theories which he lays 
down' reminded me of it" 

Once more the door opened, 
and the child appeared, her cheru- 
bic face suffused with smiles, 
carrying with elaborate care an 
egg in a silver cup, 

" Come on, ducky ! " Browne 
cried, hastening hen " Be quick, 
I'm waiting* That's right r thank 
you very much. Now be off to 

"Ah, but where are the wages, 
Browne? " Warden asked t beam- 
ing with joy, 

Hastily taking a lump of sugar, 

the secretary thrust it into the 

child's outstretched hand, and then pushed 

her gently towards the maid ; but the proud 

grandfather was irrepressible, 

" f s look, birdie," he said, holding out 
his arms. " Oh, that's a wretched bit ; tell 
him he's a mean cad, my sweet ! Here's a 
bigger one* What do you say ? Kiss me 
for it That's right, that was a lovely one ; 
here's another lump for that, Mabel's a good 
girl, I'm sure ; I know shell kiss Mr, Clinton 

The unhappy young man fell back in his 
chair, powerless to utter any protest, but Mrs. 
Somerset rose, with a face of righteous indig- 

" I will not have it, father ! " she cried : 
"it is too much, really ! Sophie, take that 
child away and keep her in the nursery." 

The maid retired quickly, and Warden 

"My dear/ 1 he remonstrated, "you really 
arc a little— well, never mind. Now, Clinton, 
please go on with the dramatis persona \ ; the 
conceited reverend gentleman is the part for 
me, I presume? It's curious that people 
should fancy I can play that sort of role, for 
you wouldn't easily find a more modest man 
than I am ; m hct t I— — - ■" 





Clinton's voice was almost strident from 
agitation as he proceeded : — 

" The next on the programme is Frederick 
Hammer; Hammer is an ordinary young 
man enough " 

Warden started violently. 

" My dear fellow, excuse me a moment. 
You've just reminded me— Browne, is the 
carpenter here ? " 

" Yes, that's all right ; don't you worry." 

" But are you sure he's mended the desk 
and the arm-chair ? " 

"Yes, long ago; it's all right, I tell you." 

"Ah, very well. Ten thousand pardons 
for interrupting you, Clinton ; but if I hadn't 
got the matter off my mind, my attention 
might have wandered from your play. Now 
I'm perfectly ready." 

"The footman comes next," Clinton ex- 
plained, tersely : " low comedy." 

" Good ! Pass on to the women," Warden 
cried, sharply; "pardon my brusque manner, 
dear boy, but fewest words are best in these 

" Quite so," the author agreed. " Mar- 
jorie Findlater is rather a strange sort of 
girl ; attractive, but a creature of impulse with 
a fiery temper." 

" By Jove ! " Warden ejaculated, " another 
Evelyn Thompson ! " 

" I beg your pardon " 

" Evelyn Thompson is the principal woman 
in one of my comedies. Recollect that 
character, Dolly ? " 

" Perfectly, father," Mrs. Somerset re- 
sponded, curtly. 

"There's a capital scene in that play," 
Warden continued, stretching out his thin 
legs, and resuming his rattling of the contents 
of his pockets, while a shadow of green over- 
spread Clinton's moist and pallid face. " I 
say it without conceit, but that scene posi- 
tively sparkles with epigram. Where is that 
MS., Dolly?" 

"I'm sure I don't know, father," she 
replied, her heart thrilling with sympathy for 
the unhappy author. 

"But, my dear, you should know," the 
unconscious manager remarked, gently. 

" Dear father," she responded, pleadingly, 
"I'll look for it directly Mr. Clinton has 
finished ; but he must get on now. See, the 
time is going quickly." 

" By George ! So it is ! Fire away, Clinton. 
We understand about the characters now. I 
like the introduction of the child. Queer 
little souls, they are ! Mabel's tantrum this 
morning reminds me of the time Eraser 
called. You recollect that time, Dolly if " 

Yd. viii -*§. 

"No, father, I do not," Mrs. Somerset 
answered, compressing her charming mouth 
with an air of determination. "Now, Mr. 
Clinton, please." 

Very tremulously, the hapless George 
Clinton recommenced, but hardly had he 
spoken the first words, than his throat 
seemed to close, and an overwhelming attack 
of nervous coughing seized upon him. He 
was just recovering, and was dabbing his 
crimson face, when once more the door 
opened and Sophie reappeared, ushering in 
a lady. 

" Mrs. Blunt," the maid announced. 

With a musical ejaculation of pleasure, 
Humphrey Warden sprang up. 

" Mrs. Blunt ! " he cried, delightedly, while 
the agonized author groaned inwardly. " Dolly, 
here's Mrs. Blunt come to see us ! Ah, Mrs. 
Blunt, I caught sight of you at the private 
view the other day. Now, what do you 
think of British art ? How about the com- 
parative merits of the French and English 
schools, now ? " 

An hysterical desire to burst into tears 
came upon George Clinton, and placing his 
hand over his trembling lips he got up 
hastily, and walking to the window stood 
gazing disconsolately out, struggling to pre- 
vent his eyes welling over. But when Mrs. 
Blunt's reply fell upon his ears, his heart 
rose a little. Sharply and brusquely the 
lady spoke, with a decided American 

" Can't argue about that this morning, Mr. 
Warden ; guess I haven't time. My visit's 
to Dolly on business. Dolly — — ! " 

Mrs. Blunt was an especial favourite with 
the manager ; but finding that for once her 
object in coming had not been to chat with 
him, she became suddenly perfectly unin- 
teresting to him, and drawing himself up with 
dignity he said, somewhat coldly : — 

" Mrs. Blunt, you'll excuse my wishing 
you good morning. The fact is, this gentle- 
man, Mr. Qlinton " — Clinton bowed gloomily, 
trusting nobody would notice the condition 
of his eyes — " this gentleman is reading a 
play to me." 

Hastily Mrs. Blunt broke in : — 

" Sorry I interrupted, then. Shan't be a 
moment. Dolly, meet me this afternoon." 

" You see, Mrs. Blunt," the manager pro- 
ceeded, with mild severity, " an author's time 
is precious. That must be my excuse for 
hurrying you off. Good morning to you." 

With a humorous twinkle in her eyes, 
Mrs. Blunt bustled to the door. 

"Marshall and Snelgrove's, Silk Depart- 




ment, 3 sharp, Dolly. Good-bye all, don't 
move, anyone." 

With a smothered laugh, the visitor 
departed. . For a moment Warden looked 
almost cross, and then his face lighted up 

u By George ! How that little woman 
does talk ! " he exclaimed, good-humouredly. 
" I hope she didn't think me rude, but I was 
obliged to hurry her off. Women really 
haven't the slightest idea of the value of 

" Oh, father, dear ! " Mrs. Somerset cried, 
whilst Browne turned away to conceal 
the amusement excited by poor Clinton's 
blank stare of amazement. But Warden 
noticed nothing; settling himself comfort- 
ably, perfectly unconsciously he continued, 
smilingly : — 

"It's quite true, Dolly, I never knew a 
woman who realized the value of time, yet. 
I remember a very funny instance of my dear 
wife's disregard of time, Clinton " 

" Father ! " 

" My child," Warden said, deprecatingly, 
rt what an awkward habit you have of inter- 
rupting ! That's another womanly weakness. 
It seems to be a positive impossibility to a 
woman to keep her attention fixed : her mind 
invariably wanders from the subject. Well, 
Clinton, on this particular occasion I was 
playing a character-part. I only came on in 
one scene, but, I say it without conceit, 
that scene made the piece ; my perfor- 
mance was as highly polished as a geni 
Where do you find that sort of polish 
nowadays, eh ? Nowhere. It's these stylish 
amateurs have spoilt the artistic standard. 
Now, this very Mrs. Blunt wants to go upon 
the stage. What are her qualifications? 
Youth and beauty, you'll answer. Granted. 
But where is the beautiful humility and 
modesty, that doubt of her own powers, 
without which there can be no true art? 
There's no man, I say it without conceit, 
who can read character better than I can. I 
can read Mrs. Blunt. Mrs. Blunt believes 
in herself, and therefore she's a duffer." 

The table began to shake ; Clinton had 
suddenly turned deadly cold, and he shivered 
involuntarily as he sat with depressed head 
and dreary eyes. 

" My boy," Warden cried, almost tenderly, 
" you don't look comfortable — not a bit of it. 
You are cold ? " 

"I am not, indeed," Clinton muttered, 
hoarsely. " I'll get on now, please." 

" Stop a bit, don't be in a hurry ! " was the 
kindly rejoinder. "You must come nearer 

the fire. It's quite impossible to do yourself 
justice while you feel uncomfortable. Come 
over here." 

The blood singing in his ears, Clinton rose, 
and, walking unsteadily round the table, 
dropped into the chair Warden had placed 
for him. Then, raising his MS. once more, 
he cried, in trembling tones : — 

"The scene you have heard described. 
Enter Frederick Hammer, carrying bouquet 
of flowers " 

" Ah ! " Warden exclaimed, drawing in his 
breath appreciatively — " Ah, you are fond of 
flowers, Clinton ? " 

11 No, I am not ! " the desperate author 
shouted, his very lips growing pale as he 
clutched his MS. hard. 

" Really, now, that's very strange ! " Warden 
remarked, bending towards him with much 
interest ; " not fond of flowers ! Well, well, 
and I love them myself ! Not fond of flowers : 
how queer ! Why, to me a rose is the in- 
carnation of beauty. And then a lily ! 
Purity symbolized ! Daisies, cowslips, prim- 
roses, violets ! But, there, I worship Nature in 
every aspect. That's where I get my power 
both as author and actor. I am a student of 
Nature. I say it in all becoming humility, 
but in my plays my men and women live and 
breathe ; they are not puppets : they are 
human beings with souls ! While on the 

stage How many parts have you seen 

me play, Clinton ? " 

Completely crushed with bitter disappoint- 
ment, his brain dizzy and his heart aching, 
Clinton gazed blankly at his kindly torturer. 

" I haven't the least idea," he faltered. 

" But you know which you consider my 
greatest effort ? " 

" No, I don't," the young man responded, 
faintly, consumed with a terrible fear that he 
should never get away without breaking down 

" Oh, but think, think, my boy," Warden 
continued, energetically. " There's Sir Peter, 

Sir Anthony Absolute, Touchstone " The 

clock commenced striking ; Clinton could 
not suppress a smothered groan of misery. 

"God bless me, what's that?" Warden 
cried. " Not twelve, surely ! " 

" Yes, it is," Browne said, ominously. 

Mrs. Somerset was silent, but she looked 
in almost tearful sympathy at Clinton. 

Warden rose and fussily buttoned up his 
coat. " Dear, dear," he said, " I'm so awfully 
sorry, but I must go. I've called a rehearsal 
for twelve, and I never keep people waiting. 
I'm really grieved that we shan't be able to 
finish the play, though. It opened capitally. 





The child, the pictures, the flowers, all first- 
rate ! Fresh and unconventional, that's what 
we want nowadays. That's how I've made 
my hit I'm unconventional ; there T s no 
actor like me, in fact I combine old-fashioned 
finish with modern go-aheadedness* I'm not 
boasting, you understand— I detest that sort of 
thing — it's a fact Now, Browne, come along, 
I want to talk to you. Good morning, 
Clinton " — shaking hands warmly with the 
speechless author — "good morning to you; 
I hope we shall meet again at some future 
time when I'm not so busy; you see how it 
is with me to-day. So pleased to have made 
your acquaintance. I shall tell Moore I 
think your piece commenced remarkably 
well. By-bye, Dolly. Good morning, again ! ?? 

The two were gone, but Clinton could not 
speak. Sinking into a chair he leant his 
bewildered head on his hand. 

11 Mr. Clinton, oh ! Mr, Clinton, Fm so 
very sorry ; I don't know what to say," Mrs, 
Somerset faltered. 

Pulling himself together, the young man 
rose, and began with trembling fingers rolling 
up his MS. 

" Don't say anything, Mrs. Somerset," he 
stammered, with a brave attempt to speak 
lightly ; " at least, I don't mean that, but it's 
of no consequence, thank you." 

11 But it is of consequence," she retorted. 
" Oh, if the wind had only been in the 
east ! " 

"The wind in the east ! " he repeated, dis- 
consolately. " I don't understand," 

"That is the only time when it's possible 
to read a play to father," 

" Indeed ! " 

"When the wind is in the east," she 
explained, very earnestly, " father h subject 
to rheumatism in his jaws ; talking under 
those circumstances is painful to him." 

" I understand," Clinton murmured, regret- 
fully j "I wish I had known," 

" Will you leave the play with me ? " Mrs, 
Somerset asked, flushing prettily. "The 
wind may change at any moment, you know, 
and I promise you I wouldn't lose an 

A gleam of hope came into Clinton's 
woebegone eyes. 

"Do you really mean," he cried, "that 
you would read my unfortunate little piece to 
your father yourself? " 

"Indeed, I would." 

Poor Clinton's voice shook with emotion. 

"You take away my breath," he said. 
" It might be the making of me if your father 
would accept the play. I don't know how 
to thank you," 

" Don't try to thank me now," Mrs, 
Somerset murmured, lowering her eyes 
demurely; "thank me when you come to 
fetch the MS." 

Clinton's heart suddenly leapt, and an 
unaccountable thrill passed through him, 

"I may come again?" he said, quite 
tenderly ; " you really are serious ? " 

"Of course I am," she responded, softly, 
" and I hope I shall have good news for 

"Oh, I don't care about that now," he 
cried, irrationally ; " that is to say, so long as 
I may come and talk it over with you I shall 
be more than content," 

Somewhat confused, the lady held out her 

"Good-bye," she said, gently; "good-bye 
for the present ; I hope we shall meet again 

"I hope so, indeed," Clinton answered, 
pressing her hand slightly ; "good-bye, I can't 
tell you how grateful I am. I was so awfully 
down ten minutes ago. Good-bye, again." 

Mrs. Somerset slood al the window watch- 



ing until Clinton's tall figure was lost in the 
distance; then she turned towards the fire 
and seated herself with his MS. in her 

" Poor fellow ! " she murmured. " Poor 
fellow. How good-tempered and how good- 
looking he is. I wonder if his play is clever ! 
I am almost afraid to look, I should be so 
sorry to find it wasn't. Ah, Sophie, clear 
away the breakfast things." 

Opening the MS., she glanced rapidly 
through the first page, while the maid loaded 
the tray with plates and dishes ; she read 
rapidly for a few minutes, and then her 
countenance. began to beam. 

"Good ! " she cried, involuntarily. "Capital ! 
That's awfully funny, really ! Oh, Sophie, 
for mercy's sake do leave off making 
that dreadful noise. Clear the things 

" And what time is Miss Mabel to go out, 
ma'am?" Sophie inquired. But Mrs. 
Somerset did not reply, and the maid raised 
her voice. " Nurse says, what time is Miss 
Mabel to go out for her walk, ma'am ? " 

With an impatient gesture, Mrs. Somerset 
shook her charming head. 

" Good gracious, Sophie ! do go, and don't 
bother," she cried. Sophie raised her brows 
in astonishment, and was about to close the 
door quietly when Mrs. Somerset looked up 
sharply. " Sophie," she said, excitedly, " what 
quarter is the wind in now ? I thought I heard 
the window rattle. Go and look — make haste !" 

The maid crossed the room, while the 
mistress continued, in an undertone : — 

" It's really wonderfully good ! Poor fellow, 
how disappointed he must have felt So 
modest he was about it, too. Father must 
and shall take it. I hope we sha'n't keep 
him long in suspense. Well, Sophie ? " 

"The wind's changed, ma'am," Sophie 
said ; " poor master will feel it in his face : it's 
in the east." 

But Mrs. Somerset expressed no com- 
miseration for her suffering father. Pressing 
the MS. to her breast, she looked up at the 
astonished maid, and murmured, ecstatically, 
" In the east — already in the east ! Oh, I 
am so glad ! " 


^ n |f> Original from 

the wino'* chance,, ^WfVERSI T Y F MICHIGAN 


p nnfJ [ . Original from 



[by Frwltr- 

by Google 

Original from 

Fram the Fainting] 

(from the. original at fhogmore,) 

\&f F&wltr. 

Portraits of Queen Vic fori a when a Child, 

(By gr adorn permission and appr&val of Her Majesty the Queen,) 

The two early portraits of the Queen which made its way into the description of 

here given make their appearance under the Palaces, of .the .Duke of Saxe-Coburg, 

somewhat curious circumstances. In the which appealed in our July issue. We 

first place, we have to correct an error there reprodui&'Jrai^porWritl'J of a young 



child playing with a dog, under the title of 
" Queen Victoria at the Age of Four," 
accompaiied by the following description 
by the writer of the article, Miss Spencer- 
Warren : " Going into another room in the 
upper part of the house, I find on the 
wall a painting of Her Royal Highness the 
Princess Victoria, now our Queen, represent- 
ing her as a wee child cuddling her favourite 
dog. This seemed to me to be well worth 
photographing ; carrying one back as it does 
over a period of seventy years, when the 
parents of the little Princess scarcely dreamed 
of the future exalted position their little 
daughter would be called upon to take." 
The portrait was pointed out to Miss Spencer- 
Warren as that of the Princess Victoria by 
an old retainer of the Castle, who had been 
charged with the mission of conducting her 
over the Palace. u Are you certain," asked 
Miss Spencer- Warren, " that this is a portrait 
of the Princess Victoria?" "Undoubtedly 
it is," replied the old gentleman ; " I have 

lived in the Castle all my life, and my father 
lived here for thirty years before me, and 
this picture has always been known as a 
portrait of the Princess Victoria." Upon 
this authority Miss Warren photographed 
the portrait with an easy mind. But, alas 
for the stability of the best-established 
legends ! When our reproduction of the 
portrait came to the Queen's notice, Her 
Majesty at once pronounced it to be a 
painting by the celebrated French artist, 
Oreuze, who died in 1805 — fourteen years 
before the Queen was born. Her Majesty 
was so good as to inform us of the fact, and 
at the same time to give orders that two 
genuine portraits should be sent to us for 
reproduction in The Strand Magazine. 
Our readers have therefore the privilege of 
comparing the portrait which has so long 
enjoyed an undeserved reputation with the 
two interesting and valuable portraits here 
reproduced with the authority of Her 
Majesty herself. 


Original from 

Illustrated Interviews, 

By Raymond Blathwayt. 


sound of coolness 
and refreshment ; 
a little green 
lizard ran about 
the drawing-room 
wall; outside there 
was deep still- 
ness, broken only 
at regular inter* 
vals by the bell- 
like, monotonous 
note of the " cop- 
persmith " bird. 
Suddenly a wail 
of sobbing wind, 
forcibly recalling 
to me the sound 
I have so often 
heard in a little 
English church 
upon the top of 
some lonely, wind- 

WAS seated in a 
darkened room in 
the Residency at 
Gwalior, talking 
to my host, CoL 
Donald Robert- 
son, to whom, as in the 
past to his predei ea 
sors, Sir Lepel Griffin 
and Colonel Barr, so 
much of the prosperity 
of the vast native state 
of Gwalior is due. It 
was a day of blazing 
heat ; the hot wind blew 
fitfully against the 
damp tatties, on which 
now and again the 
native servant threw 
buckets of water, which 
splashed upon the 
ground with a delicious 

swept hill, rushed through the silent house ; 
doors slammed, voice? were heard once more* 
and in another moment the stately " bearer" 
entered the room, announcing " Maharajah 
Sahib, 3 ' who, indeed, followed close upon the 
servant's heels, 

Scindia, Maharajah of Gwalior, one of the 
most powerful princes in India, is a rather tall, 
stout, broad 'Shouldered, well-built young 
fellow of about eighteen years of age. He is 
very dark, with handsome black eyes full 
of a certain merry intelligence that invariably 
wins him friends wherever he goes, Though 
an exceedingly gentle-mannered person, he is 
possessed of any amount of determination 
and resolution, which, indeed, require the 
utmost control lest they should degenerate 
into mere obstinacy and self-will. Fortu- 
nately for him and the nation over which he 
rules, such a tendency is balanced by so keen 
a sense of humour and such real goodness of 
heart that it is impossible to conceive of his 

doing anything 
unjust, unkind, 
or that would 
place him in a 
ridiculous posi- 

Robertson," said 
he, after my 
presentation to 
him, " will you 
come down to 
the Palace with 
me, as I want to 
show you some 
photographs I 
have just taken ; 
and won't Mrs. 
Robertson and 
Mr Blathwayt 
come, too ? " he 
continued, as he 
asked our hostess 
permission to 
smoke a cigar- 

We were only 
too pleased to ex- 
change the dull 
quietude of the 
long Indian day 
for something 

SCJVDIA, MAHARAJAH OF GWAUCfijrj n j n S I f m ry, 




From a Ph&U*+ by] 



that promised us a little change and action, 
and so, stepping into the Prince's carriage, 
we all drove off A curious scene it was 
that met our eyes : the flat, low-lying country 
across which the long shadows were lazily 
stretching themselves beneath the rays of the 
declining sun ; the Residency itself, a pic- 
turesque building of the regular bungalow 
type, hidden away in a group of trees, above 
which one caught a glimpse of the British flag 
flying in the breeze, with a native sentry march- 
ing up and down the 
gravelled terrace; 
and then, outside 
the Residency gar- 
dens, the deserted 
streets of Merar, 
once occupied by 
our British troops, 
and now left to 
silence and decay. 
And three miles 
away stands, frown- 
ing down upon the 
country, the fortress 
of Gwalior itself, 
which, in 1885, as is 
shown in the ap|>en- 
ded picture, we re- 
stored to its rightful 
owner, the father of 
the present ruler. 

The rock upon which the fortress stands 
rises abruptly from the plain to a height 
of 300ft, scarped and almost impregnable, 
except in two villages on the western face, 
which has been of late years strongly fortified. 
The rock itself Is thus the fortress, the abrupt 
scarps of which form its best wall of defence. 
A wonderfully impressive and interesting 
spectacle it presents, thus suddenly rearing 
itself upon the vision of the stranger, and 
none the less interesting that it was a seat of 

WWffi5tft9F MICH 13*1^ * JWtam - 




[,/ithil f( ."I- iL }i ■!' '..-'ill 

monarchy and the stage whereon many a 
strange tragedy has been enacted for centuries 
before the Christian era- It is about two 
miles in length, and some hundreds of yards 
in width. Perched high upon its summit 
stand the beautiful Buddhist temples of 
Sas Bhao and the Tell Mandir, one of which 
is certainly not less than three thousand 
years old* 

Buildings wrought in dead days for men a long time 

The entrance to the fort, through which I 
passed the following day seated upon an 
elephant, and with a small escort of native 
police, is hewn out 
of the gigantic 
walls, which are 
still decorated with 
beautiful encaustic 
tiles, and within 
which is situated 
the great Palace of 
Raja Man Singh, 
of great antiquity, 
and which is con- 
sidered to be one 
of the finest pieces 
of architecture in 
Northern India, All 
this I gathered from 
the Prince himself 
and Colonel Robert- 
son, as the carriage 
rolled smoothly 
along the well-pre- 

served high road, sun-flecked, shadow- 
stricken , across which perpetually darted the 
little striped squirrels which are so distinctive 
a feature of Indian life, and along which 
groups of brilliantly costumed, stately, and 
salaaming natives were seated or walking, 

Round the north-east base of the rock lies 
the ancient city of Gwalior, now almost 
deserted : upon the other side are stretched 
the wide parks and pleasure grounds in 
which stand the Maharajah's magnificent 
palaces^ the Jai Bilas and the Moti Mahl — or 
Palace of the Zenana, And very beautiful 
they looked as they gleamed snow-white 


tone rf" Hoffman. 



FYvrn fi l*hwU>. U$\ 


[Johmtyn*. dt Ifi^Hian^ 

beneath the rays of the afternoon sun. Side 
by side with the walls of the palaces are the 
streets and houses of the new town of Gwalior, 
known as the Lushkar, which, by its name, 
meaning "camp," as Sir Lepel Griffin has 
pointed out, significantly recalls the days when 
the Mahratta chief from whom the present 
ruler of Gwalior is descended was no more 
than the leader of a marauding clan, who had 
no fixed habitation, and whose tent was his 
home. The mention of Sir LepeFs name 
recalls that day, memorable in the history of 

Gwalior, when, in the year 1886, the late 
Maharajah died, and the temporary guardian- 
ship of his young successor lay in the hands 
of this distinguished official, to whom the 
whole country of India owes a debt of 
gratitude which it cannot easily repay. 

I have learnt from private official papers 
which have been intrusted to me the 
immense care and consideration which Sir 
Lepel Griffin displayed in his arrangements 
for the education and for the future of the 
young child who, in the time to come, would 






be called upon to rule over this great tract of 
country. And well, indeed, have those arrange- 
ments been carried out, as I was to discover 
for myself in a very short period of time. 

As we drove up to the beautiful entrance 
of the Jai Bilas Palace, where a guard of 
honour received the Prince with a Royal 
salute, we saw standing there Surgeon-Major 
Crofts, the Maharajah's guardian and medical 
attendant, and Mr. \\\ Johnstone, his tutor, 
to both of whom ho 
is devoted, and at 
whose hands he has 
met the most tender 

As we mounted 
the stairs and 
entered the splen- 
did drawing-room, 
or Durbar Hall, the 
Prince drew my 
attention to the 
portraits of Her 
Majesty the Queen 
and the Prince of 
Wales. "My father," 
said he, 4i built the 
greater part of this 
Palace in a few 
months in order that 
he might receive the 
Prince of Wales, 
and you will note 

■Vol. ™.^*7. 

the rooms here are 
as English as we 
could make them. 
It took 10,000 
men working day 
and night for many 
months to get it 
ready in time. Here 
was the Prince's 
private sitting- 
room, which I no\v 
use as my study; 
I showed it to the 
poor Duke of 
Clarence when he 
was here three 
years ago. Here 
I develop my 
attend to the finan- 
cial matters of the 
Palace, and here 
is where I used to 
prepare my lessons 
for Mr. Johnstone." 
At this moment 
Mr. Johnstone himself and Dr, Crofts entered 
the room, and joined in our conversation, 

44 THe Prince," said Mr. Johnstone, "has 
gone through the ordinary curriculum of the 
English boy's education, except that Marathi, 
English, and Hindustani have taken the place 
of the classics, But we have given up doing 
lessons now, haven't we, Maharajah Sahib ? 
And we are now going in for more practical 
work T ' ; and, as he spoke, he showed me some 



.admirable surveying work which the Prince 
had been doing that very morning. H And 
.again, as you see in that photo., he is taking 
up magisterial work under the direction of 
Colonel Robertson, The accused is a boy in 
custody of two policemen, charged with theft 
from that third man who is standing near I 
was present at the trial, and we were all 
struck with the Maharajah's interest and 
insight into the whole matter He is curiously 
just in his ideas for an Oriental,-' he continued, 
in a low voice, as the Prince and I)r* Crofts 
Tvere laughing together in a corner of the 
room, " and the people are already devotedly 
attached to him." 

" You must show Mr* Blathwayt some of 
your photographs, Maharajah/ 7 said DrXrofts, 
as he came up to where I was standing. 

"Well, Maharajah Sahib," said I, "won't 
you photograph that splendid elephant of State 
that I see there? lam sure the readers of 
The Strand Magazine would like that ! " — 
for we had already agreed that I should write 
an article on all I saw and heard in Gwalior. 

The Maharajah was much pleased at the 
idea, and accordingly clown we all trooped 
into the great courtyard of the Palace, where 
stood the magnificently-caparisoned animal, 
of which the Maharajah took the photograph 
here reproduced* A beautiful little railway- 
engine and carriages passed us slowly by as 
we stood by the elephant, and the Maharajah 
proposed that we should all be photographed 
by its side (which was a